Improperly Wed (5 page)

“What does that have to do with me?” she demanded defiantly.

“I also already owned the larger of the two Berkshire estates.”

Belinda's shoulders lowered. The Wentworth family
had, somewhat unusually, two estates in Berkshire. The smaller of the two was of more recent origin, having come into the family through the marriage of her great-great-grandmother. The larger—which Colin apparently now owned, if his claims were to be believed—had been in the family since the days of Edward III. Downlands, as it was called, bordered Granville land, and had been the subject of a prolonged property-line dispute with Colin's family in the nineteenth century.

Belinda's head buzzed. She had no responsibility for the Wentworth estates, she told herself. After all, she had her life in New York as an art dealer. She was far from the family fray—or was she?

“I suppose you acquired the Berkshire estate through a similar anonymous purchase? The privately held company that you used for the transaction wouldn't be LG Management, would it?” She named the mysterious company that she had been told owned the Las Vegas hacienda that they were in.

Colin inclined his head. “LG Management, yes.” He quirked his lips. “Lord Granville Management.”

Belinda's eyes narrowed. “How clever of you.”

“I'm glad you think so.”

Her mind raced even more. How was it possible that the family holdings had been so diminished and she had been unaware of it? Was the family's financial situation that dire?

“How did you pay for your lavish wedding to Tod?” Colin asked, seemingly reading her mind.

Belinda started guiltily. “It's none of your business.”

Colin thrust his hands in his pockets. “I imagine that in the customary way the Dillinghams bore some of the cost, but as far as the Wentworth share, I can't imagine that you shouldered the entire burden.”

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.”