Improperly Wed (Aristocratic Grooms #3)(30)
Author: Anna DePalo

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and blinked rapidly. Belatedly, she became aware of Colin squeezing her hand, his thumb smoothing over the pulse at her inner wrist.

The audience burst into applause as the final scene faded to its close. Belinda bit her lip and distractedly accepted Colin’s offer of a tissue. She felt silly—she’d known how Verdi’s opera ended. But still, she cried.

She told herself that the image of star-crossed lovers was iconic. Radames and Aïda were the Romeo and Juliet of another era. Neither couple bore any resemblance to her and Colin—not in the least.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” Colin asked, his voice deep and low.

“I loved it,” she croaked.

He chuckled then, and she gave a weak laugh—because her tears clashed with her statement.

“Let’s get home.”

Belinda felt a rush of emotion at Colin’s words. It was the first time he’d used the word home with her to refer to Halstead Hall, but of course she knew what he meant without thought. Had she already started to think of Halstead Hall as home?

They rode back in companionable silence, making desultory conversation.

“I thought I’d make you happy with tickets to Aïda,” Colin joked at one point, “but it would seem you prefer to cry when you go to the opera.”

“You weren’t unaffected by the performance, either,” she parried. “You wouldn’t be an opera fan otherwise.”

He cast her a sidelong look, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. A smile played at his lips. “I was enjoying watching you as much as the opera singers on stage.”

She heated. “You were not watching me!”

“How do you know?”

She bit her lip, because of course she had been found out. The only way she could know for sure that he hadn’t been watching her was by being aware of him.

“I know,” she insisted. “You were too busy playing with my hand.”

Colin laughed, low and deep, and then faced the road again.

Belinda glanced out the window. They were speeding toward Halstead Hall and already the air between them had become more intimate.

When they arrived at the house, everything was still and dark. Colin had told the butler not to await their return from London. Some of the staff, of course, had the day off.

Belinda hesitated in the hall, unsure of what to do.

“Nightcap?” Colin asked, offering a solution to her problem.

“All right.” She nodded, willing to put off the climb up the stairs to their adjoining suites.

She followed him into the library, where she disposed of her evening bag and coat while Colin busied himself at the side bar.

When Colin returned, she gratefully accepted the glass of clear liquid on ice from him.

“Cheers,” he toasted, raising his glass. “To new beginnings.”

She took a sip at the same time as he did, and her eyes widened. “Water?”

“Of course.”

He took her glass from her and set both glasses down on his nearby desk.

This was not what she’d envisioned when he’d suggested a nightcap. She’d pictured imbibing something strong—to fortify her.

Colin trailed one finger up her arm to her shoulder. “It’s a good thing neither of us has had a real drink.”

“Why?” she asked, stumbling over the word. “So we don’t do anything rash and regret it again?”

He gave a small smile. “No, so we won’t have any excuses when we do.”

Belinda’s heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. “We have to stop this.”

“Do we?” he joked, and then looked around. “Last time I checked, we were married. We even live here.”

“The marquess ravishing his wife in the library? It sounds like a bad round of Clue.”

“If I weren’t so aroused right now, I might suggest we play.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing? Playing?” she parried. “This is a game.”

“Then why am I so deathly serious?”

“Because you play to win.”

“Exactly. Kiss me.”

“Rather direct,” she tried. “I would have thought you’d have more subtle lures in your repertoire.”

“I do, but I’ve waited three years.”

“Perhaps the first time was a fluke.”

“Does this feel like a fluke?” He took her hand and placed it on his chest. “Touch me, Belinda.”

Belinda’s head buzzed. She felt the strong and steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. The contact with him was intoxicating, just like at the opera.

“We may have been born and bred to be enemies,” he said, “but in this, we’re one.”

“It’s just passion…”

“Enough to build on.”

Colin bent his head slowly, tilting it first in one direction and then in another, as if deciding how he wanted to kiss her.

Belinda felt as if the moment drew out forever.

When he finally settled his lips on hers, it was with soft but insistent pressure, and Belinda unconsciously parted her lips.

He tasted faintly minty and all male, a flavor that only fueled and deepened her desire. His hands settled on her shoulders, where they molded and relaxed her.

She’d closed the door on their past. She’d tried not to dwell on how hotly passionate their night in Vegas had been. Now, however, she recalled vividly how he’d kissed every inch of her.

Her ni**les became pronounced, her h*ps heavy with desire.

Colin moved his hands down her back.

“I don’t know where the zipper is,” he murmured between kisses.

“That’s the point,” she said against his mouth.

“I don’t want to ruin your lovely dress. It fits you like a glove, and with any luck, there’ll be other evenings when you can wear it to bring me to my knees.”

She fought against the feelings that his words evoked. “You are not literally on your knees.”

He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. “Would you like me to be?”

She trembled because she remembered the previous time that Colin had called her bluff. They had walked into a wedding chapel.

He trailed a finger lazily down from her collarbone to her cle**age, just skirting the tip of one breast.

“If I were on my knees,” he said in a deep voice, “I think my lips would reach right here.”

He touched the sensitive skin of her midriff.

She found herself holding her breath.