“I only observed you from afar,” Colin added mockingly, “but I was aware enough of your comings and goings to understand that much.”
He was right, damn him.
She recalled running through the halls of the Mayfair town house when she was four or five, and later, learning to ride a horse on the Berkshire estate. And then there had been the innumerable dinner parties. She’d watched her mother get ready for them by donning an expensive gown and selecting the jewels from the family safe. When she was still an adolescent, she’d been invited to join those dinner parties. It was where she’d first met artists of national and international importance and learned the love of art that she’d turned into a career.
Still, she knew enough not to give away too much. “What do you want?”
“I want the woman I married. The one who made decisions for herself, instead of following in her family’s footsteps. For a wife like that, I might be willing to come to some sort of compromise about the disposal of my properties.”
“I’m not into rebellion enough to be your wife.”
“Oh, you’re more of a rebel than you think,” Colin returned smoothly, stepping closer.
Belinda lifted her eyebrows in mock inquiry.
“One can even say your move to New York, distancing yourself from the other Wentworths, was a small act of rebellion.”
She felt strangely exposed.
“It’s your choice,” Colin said. “You can choose to be a Princess Leia or a Han Solo. You can choose to be a stick-in-the-mud and annul our marriage for another safe and family-approved husband, or you can be someone who lives life according to her own terms. Which is it going to be?”
“Frankly, it’s like being offered a bargain by Darth Vader,” she tossed back, covering her sudden confusion.
Colin’s eyes crinkled, and then he laughed.
Belinda swallowed. Despite her flippant response, Colin’s words hit close to home. But then, what did he know of her life? She wasn’t a stick-in-the-mud, damn it. She was just responsible.
This conversation was enough to make a girl long for some shopping therapy.
“What’s in this for you?” she asked.
“I told you. I’m cultivating an investment.”
She fought the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Does it matter?” he retorted. “Your side of the game is clear. You can do as your family dictates and end our marriage, but that may leave the Wentworth heritage solely in my hands. Is that what you want?”
What she wanted? She had no idea, not anymore. There was too much at stake, and he was far too attractive, standing so close to her, looking so powerful and in control.
“The other option is better,” he tempted. “By staying married to me, you can both rebel and play the role of dutiful daughter or niece at the same time. It’s rare that such an opportunity presents itself.”
She tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying.
“Stay married to me, and you can move these paintings to Downlands.”
“To Downlands?” she challenged, licking suddenly dry lips. “Downlands is no longer mine.”
“It could be solely yours,” Colin countered, his voice low and smooth, “if we remain married. I’ll sign that contract.”
She wasn’t ready for this. She needed time to process…think…
But Colin wasn’t giving her time or space. He stepped closer, within touching distance.
She felt a sizzle skate along her nerve endings.
His hair was short and silky, like mink, and his eyes were dark and gave nothing away. She noticed the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes that had grown infinitesimally more pronounced from three years ago.
She shifted her gaze downward, over the hard planes of his cheekbones and nose, to his mouth. For a hard man, he had soft lips.