Improperly Wed (Aristocratic Grooms #3)(29)
Author: Anna DePalo

Colin felt a tightening in his gut.

Daphne gave an impish grin, and Belinda laughed down at her. It was clear Belinda was in her element—spattered with paint and laughing. And she was relaxed, naturally, all because she thought he wasn’t there.

In the next moment, however, she glanced up and caught his eye. She froze, and he gave her a mocking salute with a lift of his lips.

For him, every look and glance was overlaid with the memory from Vegas of kissing her luscious pink lips, smoothing his hand down a satin thigh and tracing a path along the tender skin of her abdomen.

Belinda quickly looked down to answer another of Daphne’s questions.

When Daphne finally moved off, Colin sauntered in.

Belinda glanced at him warily.

“Who knew that what was missing was an art room?”

She gave him a tart look. “Well, it does already possess a double-height library, two wine cellars and a private theater.”

He let his eyes crinkle. “Welcome to the ancestral pile.”

“Is there any element I’ve overlooked?”

“No worries. You’ve added the missing element. An art room.”

“You’re the one who has a Renoir hanging in the master suite.”

“Perhaps I was hoping to tempt you.”

Belinda reddened. “Thank you, but I’m perfectly content with reproductions in books.”

He laughed softly. "Any time you change your mind…"

“I won’t.”

“The agreement is awaiting your review and signature.”

They both knew which contract he was referring to. It was the postnuptial accord that she had set up as the final barrier between them.

Belinda turned away. “Yes, I know. I’ll get to it as soon as I have the chance.”

“Don’t wait too long.”

He laced the words with promise. He watched Belinda’s profile stain with heat again before she walked over to help another child.

Colin watched her go.

He’d stayed away in London and New York on business for a week, he’d taken cold showers and pressed his attorney to act fast. Let Belinda feel some of his urgency.

He knew he had to keep up the heat. He would seduce his wife back into his bed.

And then his plan to make Belinda acknowledge she wanted a Granville—that their night in Vegas was no fluke—would be achieved.

Frankly, his sanity was starting to depend on it.

Nine

When Colin had suggested they attend a performance at Covent Garden, Belinda had been unable to resist agreeing. She knew Aïda was playing. She’d always thought the opera was unbearably beautiful.

One of the things she’d always loved about the southern corner of Berkshire where Downlands and Halstead Hall were located was that it was just a short trip to London, making a night in town more than possible.

She was happy and excited when Colin bought tickets for good seats, which she knew were expensive and often hard to come by. She wanted to think he’d thought of her when doing so, but she was also enough of a realist to remember Uncle Hugh’s words: since Colin had suffered a blow to his ego when she’d nearly walked down the aisle with another man, of course he’d be eager to line up public engagements for the two of them.

She dressed with care in a one-shouldered midnight-blue cocktail dress and croc-embossed peep-toe pumps. She had caught back her hair in a loose knot. She knew Colin would be in a suit and tie.

In fact, her heart palpitated excitedly as she came down the main staircase at Halstead Hall, all the while aware of Colin, handsome and distinguished, looking up at her from the landing.

Their postnup had just been finalized—she’d reviewed and signed it—so there was nothing barring Colin from her bed anymore. She also knew this was the twenty-first century and a marquess couldn’t just order her around. Still, she knew that she was morally obligated to stand by her agreement.

She tried to focus on the fact that she had signed a contract. She wouldn’t let herself think about standing face-to-face with Colin in his bedroom, his hot eyes on her while his hands skimmed over her sensitized skin, making her desperate with the desire for him to undress her.

She wouldn’t think about the pleasure to be found in his arms.

No, she wouldn’t.

Because they dined at home, they went directly to London’s Royal Opera House in Covent Garden for the performance. Colin drove them in his Aston Martin, eschewing the services of Halstead Hall’s resident driver.

Inside the opera house, the crowd was already milling. Colin introduced her to a couple of acquaintances who greeted him, and Belinda thought she did a credible job of smiling and being an appropriate consort.

When she and Colin eventually ended their conversations and made their way up to their seats in a front box, she had trouble relaxing. She almost wished Pia and Tamara were there for support. At least their husbands were friends of Colin’s with whom she was familiar and comfortable.

When she and Colin took their seats with a close view of the stage, Belinda caught her breath. No need for opera glasses, she thought whimsically. The view was spectacular.

She perused her program until, minutes later, the lights blinked and dimmed, signaling the beginning of the performance.

She was just sliding into the start of the opera when Colin clasped her hand, folding it gently into his. She couldn’t help focusing on the contact.

His hand was bigger, tougher and rougher than hers. It was an apt metaphor for their relationship, she thought. Yet, his clasp was surprisingly gentle, and his lightest touch had an electric effect on her.

She felt tossed by a storm of emotion mimicking the drama onstage. There were two shows here tonight—the one in which the singers participated, and Colin’s private one for her benefit.

He traced over her hand with his thumb—an airy and rhythmic movement that might be mistaken for a soothing motion but that caused a quickening tempo of tension inside her.

She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He faced forward and his face gave nothing away—except he continued his light touch on her hand.

She admitted that Colin had quite charmed her lately. Logically, she wished it were otherwise, but she was finding him hard to resist.

Belinda parted her lips on a sigh as she focused on the stage again.

The military commander, Radames, was caught between his love for Aïda, a captured princess, and loyalty to his Pharaoh—whose daughter, Amneris, had unrequited love for her father’s commanding officer.

Belinda felt her heart clench as the opera built to its tragic cl**ax. She almost couldn’t bear to watch the final scene, where Radames and Aïda were destined to die together.