Improperly Wed

by Anna DePalo

  The dance came to an end at that moment. He reluctantly loosened his hold on her, and stepped back.

  “Walk with me in the garden.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “What? It’s cold outside.”

  “Hawk has a greenhouse. It’s where the head gardener works his magic for the estate grounds.”

  “I hardly think—”

  “We’re supposed to convince people tonight that we’ve decided to make a real go of our marriage.”

  It was a weak excuse. Still, she could not have missed the curious looks they’d received throughout the day. She sighed.

  “You know you want a breather. It’s become a terrible crush in here.” Particularly for them—a couple who was one of the interesting sideshows of the evening.

  She contemplated him for a second, and then a look of resignation crossed her face. “Fine. I’ll make a dignified exit with you.”

  They walked through the ballroom and out the French doors to a terrace warmed by heated lamps. From there, it was a short stroll to the greenhouse.

  They discovered that Hawk’s heated sanctuary had drawn other curious guests. They had come to admire some of the estate’s more exotic plants and small blooms.

  He and Belinda wandered along, stopping occasionally for her to appreciate a particular plant species—and for him to pretend to.

  The greenhouse door opened and closed a couple of times until Colin glanced around to discover that he and Belinda were alone except for another couple at the other end of the glass building. He could barely hear their voices.

  “I believe Hawk’s gardener has been experimenting to create hybrid roses,” Belinda remarked.

  She was looking down at a wood work table strewn with various gardening tools, plants and neatly marked glass jars.

  He studied her profile. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Max, my gardener, has done the same at Halstead Hall.”

  She cast him a look from under her lashes, as if wondering whether his comment was meant to be a reproach—his house, which was now her own as well, had the same cottage industry in place and she didn’t seem to know it—or whether it was yet another meaning-laden invitation to make herself at home in his life.

  The scent of roses and other blooms hung around them in the warm, humid air. Colin would never have thought that a greenhouse would be a sexually stimulating environment, but it was.

  He let his fingertips trail up Belinda’s arm in a light caress, and watched goose bumps appear. Fascinating.

  She didn’t look up at him, but there was a new stillness to her.

  Testing, he stepped closer and cupped her upper arms from behind her. He bent and breathed in the soft air by her temple.

  “What are you doing?” There was a catch in her voice.

  “What does it seem as if I’m doing?” he responded, his voice laced with laughter and seduction. “I’m trying to determine your scent.”

  “There are other people here.”

  “Surely they won’t mind if I try to distinguish my wife’s scent from among those intermingled in the air.”

  “They’ll misconstrue your actions.”

  “Is that my fault?” he murmured, teasing.

  The greenhouse door opened and closed again, and this time, they were well and truly alone.

  He stroked her arms. Belinda had the softest skin. He’d thought so before, but now, touching her, the tactile sensation brought the realization rushing back to him. Blood rushed to his head and other parts of his anatomy.

  He let his lips skim the column of her neck.

  “I don’t think you’ll be able to pick up my scent in a place as aromatic as this.”

  “Tiger lily,” he announced, and then breathed in deep. “It’s soap or body wash or some type of lotion.”

  She glanced back at him, her look astonished. “How did you guess?”

  He crinkled his eyes as he held back a grin. “It’s not a shy scent—”

  “Oh.”

  “—and I noticed some tiger-lily products among your cosmetic products back at the hotel.”

  “Oh!” Her eyebrows drew together.

  “I’m not nearly so omniscient about taste, however.”

  “Clearly.”

  “For that, there’s only one way for me to find out.”

  Before she could react, he turned her toward him.

  He settled his lips on hers and tasted her as if he had all the time in the world. He explored with his tongue, coaxing a reaction from her and inviting her to be a full participant with him.

  After a moment, she relaxed in his arms, though she still didn’t give him the uninhibited reaction he was looking for.

  She tasted faintly of sweet wine and delicacy.

  He worked hard to lower her defenses. His hands smoothed over her back, molding her to him.

  She was a fantastic kisser. He’d learned that back in Vegas, and he got further glimmerings of her potential now.

  He skimmed his hands above the back of her dress. He pressed and rubbed her muscles, soothing her.

  Belinda made a low sound of pleasure.

  Of course, he’d suggested the greenhouse in order to have a private moment, but he knew, even in his current aroused state, that he couldn’t simply lower her to the floor here and make love to her.

  Then again, he could lock the greenhouse door…

  He undid the hook at the back of her dress and then lowered the zipper, relaxing her bodice.

  Belinda sighed, and the cups of her gown fell away from her breasts.

  Colin feasted on the sight.

  Belinda’s lips were parted and glistening, her eyes half-closed. The tips of her breasts were drawn tight, beckoning to him.

  He bent and lowered his mouth to one rosy bud.

  Belinda’s knees buckled, nearly taking them both down to the floor.

  Colin drew his brows together, concentrating on the task at hand—giving and receiving pleasure.

  He breathed deeply, and Belinda moaned.

  Suddenly, the greenhouse door opened and shut. A moment later, the air around them changed and cooled. Distantly, there was the sound of voices.

  Belinda pulled away from him with a jerk and gathered her bodice to her chest.

  He knew he should have locked that door when he’d had the chance.

  She looked disheveled and reached to pull up her zipper. “We can’t do this!”

  “Reluctantly, I have to agree. We’re no longer alone.”

  “Our postnup hasn’t been signed,” she countered.

  “Is that what you’re waiting for?”

  “That’s what we’re waiting for,” she corrected.

  Clearly, she meant to hold him off on sex until the agreement was signed.

  Colin breathed in deep and took a moment to bring himself back from acute arousal. Damn, it hurt.

  No doubt about it. He’d have to raise hell to get their agreement finalized as soon as possible.

  Belinda glanced from side to side and then shot him a repressive look. “I have to get out of here.”

  Colin smiled sardonically. He needed to get out of here, too. They had to leave before he got them to take up where they had unsatisfyingly left off—agreement or no agreement.

  He raised her chin and touched the pad of his thumb to the corner of her mouth.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Your lipstick is smeared, and your color is high—”

  She lowered her shoulders.

  “—and sooner or later you’re going to wind up in my bed.”

  She froze and then abruptly pulled away from him. “Yes, but for now, I need to freshen up and get presentable again.”

  She headed to the greenhouse door, and he followed her at a more leisurely pace.

  He knew Belinda desired him—Granville or not.

  His job was to make her acknowledge it. He felt as if he was on the verge of attaining a goal that he’d been pursuing ever since their night in Vegas.

  Soon—ve
ry soon—Belinda would be his not only in name.

  Eight

  Belinda looked around her lavish bedroom at Halstead Hall. She had known luxury in the past, but this was at a whole other level.

  The bedroom curtains were of silk damask, the walls were painted a celestial blue and the furniture was all carved wood antique. Her bed was large and canopied, the fireplace mantel was marble and a Victorian vanity table graced the far wall. The view out the windows was, of course, the best in the house. The vista was of the back lawn and wooded area.

  This bedroom and its adjacent sitting room comprised the traditional quarters of the Marchioness of Easterbridge. The marquess’ rooms were next door. Belinda had no doubt that Colin hoped to persuade her to go there at the first opportunity.

  The fact that their postnuptial agreement had yet to be signed had bought her a reprieve. But Belinda had heard from her lawyer, and knew Colin was working diligently on getting the agreement finalized ever since Pia’s wedding last week.

  Belinda got goose bumps just thinking about it. She’d slept with Colin once, and it had been an earth-moving event for her.

  She sucked in a deep breath. Her interlude with Colin in the greenhouse was still fresh in her mind. She remembered the feel of his mouth on her breast and of his hands on her skin. They’d been imprinted on her memory and came to her at night, unbidden.

  She couldn’t let him get under her skin so easily. She reminded herself of all his misdeeds—most of all, secretly buying up Wentworth properties.

  She was just a tool to him. He was either toying with her or she was part of a grand plan that she wasn’t totally privy to—or both.

  Fortunately, she’d kept herself occupied enough to avoid dwelling on matters and to stay out of Colin’s way.

  In the past week, she’d flown to New York, tidied up her affairs there and asked for some time away from work until she was settled at Halstead Hall.

  Her superiors at Lansing’s had already broached the subject of transferring her to the London office on a permanent basis. Apparently, they were easily impressed by Colin’s wealth and title and by the social and business connections implied by them. Everyone was intent on making nice and assumed moving her to London was what she wanted, too.

  For now, she’d let her work colleagues think what they would, but she knew that she’d eventually have to clarify matters before she really was transferred to London.

  She wanted to disrupt her life as little as possible, as vain a hope as that might be, even though she’d chosen to remain married to Colin. She knew Colin spent a good deal of time in New York seeing to his business interests. Let him accommodate her in his life, as well.

  After glancing at her watch, Belinda left her bedroom and headed downstairs for a late lunch. Colin was still in London, roughly an hour’s commute away, attending to pressing work matters.

  She turned a corner in the hallway and steeled herself when she realized Colin’s mother was coming her way.

  The dowager marchioness had moved out of the house when her husband had died, ceding Halstead Hall to Colin as a principal residence and staying primarily at an address in London’s tony Knightsbridge neighborhood. Belinda had gleaned that much from Colin and the staff.

  Regardless, however, the marchioness was visiting here today, and by the looks of it, she was just as surprised and nonplussed about encountering the newest member of the family as Belinda was about meeting her.

  Colin’s mother must have just arrived, Belinda thought. According to the staff, the dowager was used to availing herself of Halstead Hall during travels and in lieu of a hotel when visiting the neighborhood.

  The dowager marchioness inclined her head at the same time as Belinda nodded in greeting.

  The older woman didn’t crack a real smile. “Settling in?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Belinda was sure the news wasn’t welcome.

  “You’ll want to speak to the chef about the menu for next week’s dinner party,” the other woman said, coming to a stop. “And the housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, is looking for direction as to how you wish your work space organized. I believe a number of social invitations are awaiting your response.”

  Having stopped, too, Belinda pasted a smile on her face. “I am looking forward to meeting with Mrs. Brown tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I’ll speak with the chef.”

  “You are unused to how we run things at Halstead Hall.”

  It was hard to argue with the facts. “Yes, I would say so.”

  “An important realization.”

  “One of many, I hope.”

  With that, the dowager marchioness sailed on, and the two of them passed each other like two ships with canons manned but holding most of their fire—at least for now.

  Belinda sighed. She wondered how many such skirmishes she was destined to have.

  As if fate laughed, she descended the stairs and ran into Sophie.

  The other woman looked uneasy. “Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  “I just arrived. I came to Halstead for the weekend to pick up some of my things, and I plan to leave tomorrow.”

  Colin’s sister stopped as if out of breath—and as if belatedly realizing that her words could be construed to mean that she was gathering up her belongings and clearing out now that Belinda was living in the house.

  What could she say in response, Belinda thought, that could not also be misconstrued? Take your time? Let me know if I may be of help?

  She sensed that Sophie didn’t bear her as much hostility as her mother but, rather, was finding the whole situation awkward and strange.

  Belinda could hardly blame her. She and Colin’s sister were contemporaries, but they’d never had any real interaction. Public events such as Royal Ascot and Wimbledon were big enough to lend themselves to selective socializing by Granvilles and Wentworths alike.

  Belinda opened her mouth and voiced the first passably sensible thought that occurred to her. “I’ve yet to discover an art room in the house.”

  “There isn’t one,” Sophie said.

  “Didn’t you ever have one?” Belinda asked curiously. “With your profession…”

  “I did most of my work outside the house and then took many of my things with me when I moved into a London flat. Mother didn’t approve of graphic des—”

  Sophie cut herself off.

  Belinda was glad she wasn’t the only person or thing that Colin’s mother frowned upon. “Perhaps I’ll create a room, then. I’m sure the youngest Granville cousins would appreciate it, and the staff must have children and grandchildren who would.”

  Seemingly despite herself, Sophie showed a spark of interest.

  Belinda felt surprisingly heartened at the positive sign. She and Colin’s sister were both in artistic professions, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Colin’s sister had an appreciation for nineteenth-and twentieth-century artwork. Maybe the next two years wouldn’t be as bad as she’d feared.

  “Sophie?”

  The dowager marchioness’s voice sounded from above them, and Sophie shot Belinda a rueful look before heading up the stairs.

  Belinda continued on to the dining room.

  Perhaps, she thought, all was not lost. Or at least, she’d survived another day…

  There was something incongruous about a marquess doing his own grocery shopping. Belinda watched Colin eye a display of imported tapenade and other spreads.

  She’d been at Halstead Hall a couple of days when Colin had returned. When he’d realized she was making a trip to the supermarket, he’d decided to come along—to her chagrin.

  She pulled a crunchy French loaf from a bin and deposited the bread in her shopping cart. She rolled her cart a few feet, and stopped next to Colin.

  Her brow furrowed. “How often do you run out to buy your own milk?”

  Colin looked amused. “Now and then.”

  She searched his face.

  “More so n
ow,” he teased, “that there’s a marchioness who insists on selecting her own brand of jam.”

  “Except I didn’t know I was a marchioness for all of the past three years.”

  “If William and Catherine can be caught buying their own produce at the market,” he joked with a reference to the British royals, “then I suppose a marquess can, too.”

  “We are in Waitrose, however,” she countered. “I refuse to be too impressed.”

  She knew just as well as he did that the upscale supermarket chain, run by a workers’ cooperative, was popular in well-heeled social circles.

  Colin smiled. “I’ll just have to keep trying, then.”

  Her eyes skated away from his as she was conscious of the air between them changing.

  She continued on with her cart, and Colin turned to follow.

  She scanned the shelves, glad for the distraction. While it was safe to think of Colin as all aristocratic hauteur, she had to admit that he’d pleasantly surprised her with today’s outing.

  They continued on through Waitrose, stopping to chat with the occasional local who recognized Colin as the local marquess. At each conversation, Colin introduced her as his wife. There were no looks of surprise, presumably because everyone in this corner of Berkshire was well aware of the recent notoriety of the Marquess and Marchioness of Easterbridge.

  Belinda was relieved not to have to offer any delicate explanations about how she’d become Colin’s wife—particularly since there’d been no recent wedding celebration. Or at least, she corrected with an inward wince, there had been no wedding in which she’d been the bride and Colin had been the groom.

  Still, even though their grocery shopping went smoothly, she was glad when they reached the checkout.

  They stood in line like everyone else. Colin paid by credit card and then declined assistance to their car by one of the baggers.

  “No need,” Colin said to the teenager. “I’ll have no problem handling these bags myself.”

  When they exited the supermarket, she followed Colin to their vehicle, where he loaded their purchases. Then she waited while he began to wheel their empty cart back toward Waitrose.

  He’d only gone a few feet, however, when a petite older woman, well-dressed and carrying a Chanel purse, stopped him.