Eleven
As Colin rode his polo horse across the field, holding his mallet at the ready, Belinda fanned herself with her event program.
April was the beginning of polo season, and the weather was mild.
But the sight of Colin exerting himself, his legs encased in form-fitting riding breeches as he rode to and fro to help his team best their opponents, was having an odd effect on Belinda’s body temperature.
They were on polo grounds near Halstead Hall for an event to raise money for a local children’s hospital. Even though the sporting event was for a good cause, the players on the field played ferociously.
Competitiveness was part of Colin’s nature, Belinda realized. Moreover, he was born and bred to win.
A week had passed since Belinda’s path had unexpectedly crossed with Tod’s and had set her and Colin into an emotionally and sexually charged confrontation.
The power balance between them had been altered. Colin’s reaction that night a week ago had been so stark—almost pained—that it had pierced her heart. He was under her spell as much as she was under his. They were two bodies circling around each other in an intimate dance.
Since then, she was cognizant of the fact that he was a Granville, that they had a postnup and that he held Wentworth property in the palm of his hand. But she was also aware of her power—and of the fact that the relationship really came down to the two of them.
They had, in the past week, been unable to keep their hands off each other. She had lost track of where and when they had been intimate. Certainly they had been at night in his bedroom, which she had essentially moved into, but also in the library, in the sitting room and—she flushed at the recollection—even in the stables after they had gone horseback riding.
Colin was filling her mind as well as possessing her body. She was losing sight of the reason she was staying married to him—to get the Wentworth property back.
Her cell phone buzzed, and Belinda retrieved it from her handbag to realize that she had missed a call from Uncle Hugh because she had had her ringer turned off. She quickly listened to the phone message and its summons to Downlands.
She frowned. Uncle Hugh didn’t sound in ill health, but he hadn’t given a precise reason for his call, either. She wondered what was going on.
She sighed, pushing aside an uneasy feeling. There was no way around it. She would have to go see him and find out what the issue was. Fortunately, it was a short trip from Halstead Hall to Downlands.
She
looked up and saw Colin walking off the polo field toward her. The skin at the open collar of his shirt glistened with perspiration, and there were damp patches on his clothes. She knew he would smell all male, and her body began to hum in response.
He stopped, leaned down and brushed his lips across hers.
When he straightened, he smiled. “We won.”
“Did you? I didn’t notice.”
His smile widened. “We’ll have to work on your appreciation for the sport of kings.”
“Why?” she asked innocently, looking at him through her lashes. “Would you rather I didn’t focus on you instead?”
“Well, in that case, I can hardly argue.”
He bent down and kissed her again.
Belinda’s mind swam as she was quickly surrounded by his scent, his touch and his taste. He was quickly becoming addictive.
“We’re in public,” she managed when he drew back.
“To the victor go the spoils, as they say.” He looked wicked. “Can I interest you in a trip to the stables?”
She tried and failed to look prim. “We’ve already been there.”
“Go with what works.”
She felt herself flush. “I really can’t at the moment. I received a rather cryptic message from Uncle Hugh, and I need to check on him at Downlands and make sure nothing is seriously amiss.”
“I’ll wait for you at Halstead Hall, then.”