Improperly Wed (Aristocratic Grooms 3)

Colin shrugged. “It was a quick sale for an agreeable price. Your uncle was apparently looking for a quick infusion of cash.”

“What does that have to do with me?” she demanded defiantly.

“I also already owned the larger of the two Berkshire estates.”

Belinda’s shoulders lowered. The Wentworth family had, somewhat unusually, two estates in Berkshire. The smaller of the two was of more recent origin, having come into the family through the marriage of her great-great-grandmother. The larger—which Colin apparently now owned, if his claims were to be believed—had been in the family since the days of Edward III. Downlands, as it was called, bordered Granville land, and had been the subject of a prolonged property-line dispute with Colin’s family in the nineteenth century.

Belinda’s head buzzed. She had no responsibility for the Wentworth estates, she told herself. After all, she had her life in New York as an art dealer. She was far from the family fray—or was she?

“I suppose you acquired the Berkshire estate through a similar anonymous purchase? The privately held company that you used for the transaction wouldn’t be LG Management, would it?” She named the mysterious company that she had been told owned the Las Vegas hacienda that they were in.

Colin inclined his head. “LG Management, yes.” He quirked his lips. “Lord Granville Management.”

Belinda’s eyes narrowed. “How clever of you.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Her mind raced even more. How was it possible that the family holdings had been so diminished and she had been unaware of it? Was the family’s financial situation that dire?

“How did you pay for your lavish wedding to Tod?” Colin asked, seemingly reading her mind.

Belinda started guiltily. “It’s none of your business.”

Colin thrust his hands in his pockets. “I imagine that in the customary way the Dillinghams bore some of the cost, but as far as the Wentworth share, I can’t imagine that you shouldered the entire burden.”

The truth was that she had paid for a portion of her wedding. But when Uncle Hugh and her mother had insisted on a lavish affair, she’d given in—on the condition that they bear the additional expense.

“I imagine that Hugh saw your nuptials as Napoleon’s escape from Elba,” Colin said, connecting the dots for her. “It was his last, desperate gamble to save the family legacy through a fresh infusion of cash from the Dillinghams. Unfortunately, it instead became his Waterloo.”

She stared at Colin in disbelief. It was inconceivable that a Granville owned Wentworth land now. But then again, she imagined that some people found it hard to comprehend that a Wentworth—namely, her—was married to a Granville.

But all was not lost, she told herself.

“Even if you own both properties,” she countered, “as your wife, I have a claim to them. We are married, after all.”

She’d learned something from consulting a matrimonial lawyer.

Colin’s eyes gleamed with reluctant admiration. “Yes, but only to half the property at most, in all likelihood. And at best, you might be able to get a legal accounting, but then you’d only be entitled to a portion of the cash value from the sale of the estates to a third party.”

The rat. Colin would rigorously litigate. She should have known better than to try to best Colin at his own game. Business moguls like him kept schools of corporate lawyers well-fed.

“What about the property that you acquired through your business during our nonmarriage?” she challenged. “Wouldn’t that be considered marital property subject to division in a divorce? We don’t have a prenuptial agreement.”

“Since our marriage has been brief and defunct from day one—” he didn’t say thanks to you, though Belinda felt the words as an accusation “—it’s unlikely that a court would view those as up for grabs. In any case, I assume your first priority would be trying to get back the Wentworth estate.”

Belinda tried to keep the defeat out of her shoulders, because he was right.

“It seems we’re at an impasse.”

“You’ve obviously given this thought,” she accused.

“Quite, but then three years is a long time to ruminate…about having a wife without conjugal rights.”

Belinda felt the flush crawl up her face. “What makes you think I give a fig for what happens to some old buildings and parcels of land an ocean away?”

“Oh, you do,” he returned silkily. “The Mayfair town house and the Berkshire estate are where you spent your childhood.”

Belinda bit her bottom lip.