Improperly Wed (Aristocratic Grooms 3)

From their seats in upholstered chairs in the sitting room of Colin’s London town house, Sawyer Langsford, Earl of Melton, and James Carsdale, Duke of Hawkshire, exchanged looks. They all happened to be in town at the same time and had met for drinks. Having removed their jackets, they all sat around with loosened ties.

Like his two fellow aristocrats, Colin had had a more peripatetic existence than most, so his accent was cosmopolitan rather than British. Still, despite all being well-traveled—or maybe, because of it—he, Sawyer and Hawk had become friends. Thus it seemed oddly appropriate that the three of them would become romantically entangled at the same time.

Sawyer had unexpectedly gotten engaged to Tamara Kincaid, one of Belinda’s bridesmaids. Hawk was intently pursuing Pia Lumley, Belinda’s wedding planner, in an effort to smooth out his bumpy history with her.

Both of his friends were enjoying rather more success romantically than Colin at the moment—though unsurprisingly, Belinda’s friends had proven challenging to woo, as well. Colin had an advantage in that Belinda was already his wife. Yet the fact that she now refused to communicate with him except through lawyers was a decided obstacle.

But no matter. He and Belinda were still married, and with his business deal today, she’d have to deal with him sooner rather than later.

“What game are you playing, Easterbridge?” Hawk inquired.

“A rather high-stakes one, I’m afraid,” Colin said in a faintly bored tone. “I’m sure you want no part of it.”

Hawk raised an eyebrow.

Sawyer shrugged. “You’ve always played your cards close to your chest, Colin.”

“Simply doing my best to burnish the Granville surname.” And what better way to varnish it than to be responsible for finally vanquishing the family foes, the Wentworths?

Colin hadn’t given much thought to his fellow Berkshire landowners over the years. This was the twenty-first century, after all, and civility toward one’s neighbors, barring direct provocation, was the norm. Besides, in his rather small aristocratic world, it was considered downmarket to openly not get along.

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.