Improperly Wed (Aristocratic Grooms #3)(11)
Author: Anna DePalo

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.

By that time, of course, he’d really wanted Belinda. She’d been a desirable woman who pushed all the right buttons for him. By the end of the night, he’d had a sense of rightness and anticipation.

She’d followed him into the elevator leading to his luxury suite. But then she jokingly suggested that she’d have to marry him first.

The gauntlet had been thrown down.

He’d studied her. She looked relaxed and uninhibited but not as if she’d crossed the line to being intoxicated.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out onto the penthouse floor.

He turned to her and took a step closer.

“It doesn’t seem right to marry you when I haven’t even kissed you,” he murmured in a low voice.

Belinda’s hazel eyes twinkled. “I’m not putting out anymore without a promise. You know, like the song ‘Single Ladies.’”

Her tone was joking, but he detected an underlying note of seriousness.

“Someone hurt you.”

She shrugged. “Not badly.”

Colin experienced a sudden surge of anger at an unnamed jerk.

Blast, he was far gone.

One kiss.

He cupped Belinda’s face and ran his thumb over her mouth. She closed her eyes on a sigh, and he bent his head to sip from her pink lips.

She tasted sweet, so sweet. Their breaths mingled.

He sunk into the kiss, heedless of the fact that they were next to the elevator and the doors could open at any moment.

He’d always been daring. He’d had to take risks to expand his real-estate empire. In his personal life, he’d skydived, bungee jumped and usually done whatever was the thrill in vogue—much to the chagrin of his mother, who hadn’t liked seeing the heir or, subsequently, the holder of the marquessate, risking his neck.

“This is Vegas, and you know what that means,” he said after the kiss ended.

Belinda had looked at him inquiringly.

“There must be a wedding chapel nearby.”

The lark had started that way and just gained momentum.

They’d gone downstairs again, and sure enough, they’d located a wedding chapel without too much trouble.

He’d never met a woman before who was willing to up the ante with him. It was a powerful aphrodisiac.

And then back at the hotel, when they’d finally gone to bed, she’d stunned him with how natural and uninhibited she was.

In the morning, however, he’d been met with a completely different person from the hot woman with whom he’d gone to bed.

His pride had been stung. He’d been thinking about their day and the ones after that, and she hadn’t known how to get rid of him fast enough.

In that moment, of course, the Wentworth-Granville feud had become personal. He’d vowed to end the stalemate between the families, once and for all.

He played to win. It was why he’d engaged in a secret purchase of some prime London real estate, unbeknownst to the Wentworths.

“Be careful, Easterbridge,” Hawk said, recalling him from his thoughts. “Even seasoned gamblers have their losses.”

Sawyer nodded. “I haven’t bested you at poker anytime lately, but on the other hand, one could argue that just means you’re overdue for a dry spell.”

Colin quirked his mouth. “I’m happy with the cards that I’m holding at the moment.”

Four

Seven months later

Soon she’d be free.

Or at least single again—she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be free of family obligations and expectations. For one thing, her family still had the expectation that she would marry again—and marry well.

As she steered her rental car up the drive of the private estate, Belinda forced herself to relax.

Nevada was known for granting quick and simple annulments. Fortunately for her, because she and Colin had married right here in Las Vegas, she didn’t even have to establish the usual six weeks’ residency in Nevada in order to take advantage of the court system.

Colin had kept her on the hook long enough, she’d decided. She’d waited until her June wedding fiasco had faded from everyone’s memory. She’d spent months stewing, not wanting more of a scandal but not knowing how to avoid one, either. Now she hoped to quietly have her marriage to Colin dissolved.

She was going for broke trying to get an annulment rather than a divorce. Nevada made it a relatively simple matter to obtain an annulment, unlike New York. With an annulment, it would be as if her marriage had never existed.

Unfortunately, her relationship with Tod had been a casualty of the past several months of her wait-and-see approach. They’d had a parting of the ways, and she could hardly blame him. Who wanted to wait around while his fiancée continued to be married to another man?

She’d gone scouring for a work assignment in Nevada so she could obtain her annulment without tipping anyone off as to her real purpose. Fortunately, something had fallen into her lap. An anonymous collector wished to have his private collection of French impressionist art appraised.

She’d do her work, and in the meantime, she already had a meeting scheduled with a lawyer tomorrow to see about the paperwork for her annulment.