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Now she regretted the decision not to hire a lawyer. Clearly she’d committed another error in judgment. Not only had she not made sure her annulment had been properly finalized—because she’d wanted to forget about the whole sorry episode in Las Vegas as soon as possible—but as a result she’d put her trust in Colin to see the annulment through.
Colin’s gaze swept over her. “Very nice. Certainly a departure from the red sequin ensemble that you wore during our ceremony.”
“Red is an appropriate color when marrying the devil, wouldn’t you agree?” she tossed back.
“You didn’t act as if I were the devil at the time,” he responded silkily, his voice lowering. “In fact, I recall—”
“I wasn’t myself,” she bit out.
I was out of my mind. That’s right, she thought feverishly. Wasn’t insanity a basis for annulment almost everywhere?
“Insane?” Colin queried. “Already trying to create a watertight defense to bigamy?”
“I did not commit bigamy.”
“Only through my timely intervention.”
The man was infuriating. “Timely? We’ve been married two years according to your calculation.”
Colin inclined his head in acknowledgment. “And counting.”
She was incredulous at his audacity. But then she supposed that, as her spouse, Colin felt he took precedence over Tod, an almost husband. And he’d be right, damn him. Even physically, Colin was more imposing. He was the same height as Tod but more muscular and formidable.
She rued her continuing awareness of Colin as a man. Still, it was a situation she intended to rectify forthwith to the extent she could.
“How long have you known we were still married?” she demanded.
Colin shrugged. “Does it matter if I arrived in time?”
She smelled a rat from his evasive response. He’d wanted to create a scene.
Still, he gave nothing away.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” she stated.
“I look forward to it.”
“We’re getting an annulment.”
“Not today, however. Not even the state of Nevada works that fast.”
He had a point there. Her wedding day was well and truly ruined.
She stared at him in impotent fury. “There are grounds,” she insisted, reassuring herself. “I clearly must have been insane when I married you.”
“We agreed on lack of consent due to intoxication, you’ll recall,” he parried.
“Yes, yours!” she retorted, annoyed by his continued sangfroid.
He inclined his head. “By our mutual agreement, due to a better alternative.”
“Fraud should have sufficed,” she responded tightly. “You completely misrepresented your character to me that night in Las Vegas, and after today, no one would disagree with me. This latest bit of Granville chicanery is for the history books.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Chicanery?”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Delivering the news on my wedding day that you were derelict in filing our annulment papers.”
“No need to impugn my ancestors by association,” he responded calmly.
“Of course, there is,” she contradicted. “Your ancestors are why we’re in this current mess. They’re the reason why—” she gestured in the direction of the church “—the crowd out there was electrified by the news that a Wentworth had married a Granville. What are we going to do?”
“Stay married?” he suggested mockingly.
“Never!”
Belinda turned to exit just as Uncle Hugh and Bishop Newbury barged in.
As she brushed past her uncle, she heard her relative demand, “I hope you have a good explanation, Easterbridge, though I can’t imagine what it is!”
Apparently, all hell had broken loose in the hallowed sanctum.
Revenge.
A sordid word.
Still, revenge hinted at personal animosity. Instead, Colin mused, the Wentworths and Granvilles had been after each other for generations.
Perhaps feud or vendetta would be more appropriate.
His relationship with Belinda was intimately intertwined with the Wentworth-Granville feud. The feud was the reason that his and Belinda’s passion for each other in Las Vegas had been infused with the thrill of the forbidden. It was also why Belinda had run out on him the next morning.
Ever since, he’d been set on a path to make Belinda acknowledge the visceral connection between the two of them—despite the fact that he was a Granville. His plan for doing so involved complicated maneuvers to vanquish the Wentworths, once and for all, and thus end the Wentworth-Granville feud.
Colin gazed at the panoramic view afforded by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his thirtieth-floor duplex condominium, waiting for the visitor who would inevitably arrive. The Time Warner Center, at one end of Columbus Circle, afforded a wealth of privacy as well as luxury to well-heeled foreigners seeking a pied-à-terre in New York City.
He slid his hands into his pockets and contemplated the treetops of Central Park in the distance. Because it was a Sunday, he was in shirtsleeves rather than a business suit. It was a beautiful sunny day, much as yesterday had been.
Yesterday, of course, was what had almost been his wife’s wedding day.
Belinda had appeared divine in her wedding dress, though her expression hadn’t been celestial or angelic when she’d confronted him. Rather, she’d looked as if she was torn between cheerfully throttling him and dying of mortification.
Colin smiled at the image that crossed his mind. She had a passionate nature beneath her prepossessed exterior, and it drew him to her. He wanted to strip away the smooth veneer to the substance of the woman beneath.
If yesterday was any indication, Belinda hadn’t changed much in two years. She had just as much passion—around him, anyway. Her erstwhile fiancé didn’t seem to bring out the same fire. She’d been cool and collected by Dillingham’s side, beautiful but detached. The smooth porcelain-doll facade had been in place—at least until he had interrupted the wedding service.
Her rich dark hair had been swept up and away from a face that was still arrestingly lush. Dark brows arched delicately over hazel eyes, an aquiline nose and lips too full for decency. Her ivory wedding dress had hugged a curvaceous figure. Its short lace sleeves and the lace over the décolleté were the only things that saved it from being immodest.
The moment she’d turned away from the altar and toward him, he’d felt a wave of heat and a tightening of the gut, even with the whisper of her veil between them.
Colin clenched his jaw. Belinda had looked breathtaking, just like on their wedding day. But when she’d married him, she’d been full of excitement and anticipation, eyes alight and those sinful lips spread in a dazzling smile. None of that stuffy, stilted Wentworth hauteur, just a stunning blend of passion and sensuality. The remoteness hadn’t emerged until the following morning. But even now, Colin was pleased to see he could still get a reaction out of her.
After their confrontation in the church staging area, Belinda had swept out of the room. Colin wouldn’t be surprised if she’d gotten into a cab and gone directly to her attorney’s office. His mocking suggestion that they remain married had apparently been the last straw, as far as his wife was concerned.
The wedding reception had gone on, he’d heard. Belinda’s wedding planner and friend, Pia Lumley, had seen to it at the Wentworth family’s request. Regrettably, however, none of the three principal characters—the bride, her husband or the groom—had been present.
Colin stared broodingly at the magnificent view from his windows.
The enmity between the Wentworths and Granvilles ran deep. The two families were longstanding neighbors, landowners and, most importantly, rivals in England’s Berkshire countryside. From skirmishes over property lines to allegations of political treachery and dastardly seduction of female relations, the flare-ups between the families had entered into folklore.
He, of course, as the current titular head of the Granville family, had written a fitting chapter to the long-running story by eloping in Las Vegas with Belinda Wentworth.
Over the years, he had found Belinda intriguing. Of course, he’d been curious about her. When he’d seen his opportunity to get to know her better, he’d taken it—first at a friend’s cocktail party in Vegas and soon afterward, in a casino.
By the end of the night at the Bellagio casino, he’d known he wanted Belinda like he’d wanted no woman before her. There had been something about her, and it went beyond the both of them being former competitive swimmers and current opera fans.
She was a dark and striking beauty, more than a match for him in wits. Of course, that same wit was what had made her floor him, as no woman had, at the end of the evening with the announcement that she couldn’t sleep with him without a marriage certificate.
Of course, he hadn’t been able to resist the challenge. Perhaps his winnings at the gaming tables had made him believe he could win no matter what the odds. He’d been willing to take the gamble for a night in bed with Belinda.
And she hadn’t disappointed.
He felt a tightening in his gut even now at the memory, more than two years on.
And then yesterday, he’d used the element of surprise to his advantage by crashing Belinda’s wedding. He’d only recently discovered that she was to be wed. He’d also guessed that nothing short of a public spectacle would have caused Belinda’s wedding plans to fall apart. If he’d given her advance warning, she might have attempted to persuade him to finalize an annulment with no one being the wiser.
Tod Dillingham, who was concerned with status and appearances, would not know how to forgive a public transgression like yesterday. At least, Colin was banking on it.
At the chime of the apartment door, he turned away from the view. Just in time.
“Colin,” his mother announced as she sailed in, “an incredible rumor has reached me. You must deny it immediately.”
Colin stepped aside to let her in. “If it is incredible, why are you here seeking a denial?”
His mother’s flair for drama never ceased to amaze him. Fortunately, these days he was usually at a safe remove, since she considered her London flat to be home base. On the other hand, it was his bad luck that a trip of hers to New York in order to visit friends and attend a party or two happened to coincide with Belinda’s wedding date. He wondered idly if his younger sister, Sophie, was enjoying a London temporarily free of their mother’s presence.
His mother tossed a glance back at him, a sour expression on her face. “Now is no time for you to be jesting.”
“Was I?” he mused as he shut the door.
“Tosh! The family name is being besmirched.” His mother put down her Chanel bag and settled herself in a chair in the living room, after giving her coat to the housekeeper who magically materialized for a moment. “I demand answers.”
“Of course,” Colin responded, remaining standing but folding his arms. He acknowledged the housekeeper with a grateful nod.
His mother looked incongruous in the contemporary setting. He was much more used to her in a traditional English sitting room, surrounded by chintz prints and stripes, with old and faded family photos adorning the console table and piano. Certainly she was used to a complete staff of servants.
He and his mother both waited, until his mother raised her eyebrows.
Colin cleared his throat. “What is the rumor precisely?”
“As if you didn’t know!”
When he continued to remain silent, his mother sighed with resignation.
“I’ve heard the most horrible gossip that you disrupted the nuptials of the Wentworth chit. What’s more, you apparently announced you were married to her.” His mother held up her hand. “Naturally, I cut off the horrible harridan who was repeating the vicious rumor. I informed her that you would never have put in an appearance at a Wentworth wedding. Ergo, you could not have stated that—”
“Who was this teller of tall tales?”
His mother stopped, frowned and then waved a hand dismissively. “A reader of Mrs. Jane Hollings, who writes a column for some paper.”
“The New York Intelligencer.”
His mother looked at him in distracted surprise. “Yes, I believe that’s it. She works for the Earl of Melton. Whatever could Melton be thinking to own that rag of a paper?”
“I believe that tabloid turns a healthy profit, particularly online.”
His mother sniffed. “It was the downfall of the aristocracy when even an earl went into trade.”
“No, World War I was the downfall of the aristocracy,” Colin contradicted sardonically.
“You can’t possibly have turned up uninvited to the Wentworth nuptials,” his mother repeated.
“Of course not.”
His mother relaxed.
“When Belinda Wentworth’s nuptials actually took place two years ago, I was very much invited—as her groom.”
His mother stiffened.
“My station as a marquess, attributable to centuries of proper inbreeding,” he continued wryly, “forced me to prevent a crime from being committed when it was within my means to do so once word reached me of Belinda’s intention to marry again.”
His mother sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you saying that I have been succeeded as the Marchioness of Easterbridge by a Wentworth?”
“It is precisely what I’m saying.”
His mother looked as if she were experiencing vertigo. The news seemed to hit her with the force of a stockmarket crash. Naturally, Colin had been counting on it; otherwise she would have been distinctly not amused by his insouciance.
“I don’t suppose she changed her name to Granville in that chapel in Las Vegas?”
Colin shook his head.
His mother shuddered. “Belinda Wentworth, Marchioness of Easterbridge? The mind revolts at the thought.”
“Don’t worry,” he offered, “I don’t believe Belinda has used the title or has any intention of doing so.”
If Belinda did use the title, his mother would be forced to style herself as the Dowager Marchioness of Easterbridge in order to avoid confusion. It would be viewed as adding insult to injury, Colin was sure.
His mother looked exasperated. “What on earth possessed you to marry a Wentworth in the first place?”
