Improperly Wed. Anna DePalo
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be told, neither she nor Tod had been swept away by passion. Instead, their engagement had been based more on practicalities. She and Tod had known each other forever and had always gotten along well enough. She was in the prime of her friends’ matrimonial season, if not toward the end of it, at thirty-two. Likewise, she knew Tod was looking for and expected to marry a suitable woman from his highborn social set.
Tod had said he would wait for her to resolve the situation. He had not said how long he would wait, however.
Her mother tilted her head. “I don’t suppose you could lay claim to part of Easterbridge’s estate for being accidentally married for the past two years?”
Belinda was appalled. “Mother!”
Her mother widened her eyes. “What? There have been plenty of real marriages that have endured for less time.”
“I’d have more leverage if Easterbridge were divorcing me!”
Belinda recalled the marquess’ jesting offer to remain married. It was clear she’d have to be the one to initiate proceedings to dissolve their marriage.
“You didn’t have time to sign a prenuptial agreement at that wedding chapel in Las Vegas, did you?” her mother persisted and then sniffed—ready to answer her own question. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if Easterbridge carried a standard contract in his back pocket.”
“Mother!”
Uncle Hugh shook his head. “A man as sharp as Easterbridge would have seen to it that his property was not vulnerable. On the other hand, we wouldn’t want the marquess to make any claim to Wentworth property.”
Her mother turned back to her. “It’s a good thing that none of the Wentworth estates are in your name.”
“Yes,” Uncle Hugh acknowledged, “but Belinda is an heiress. She stands to inherit the Wentworth wealth. If she remains Easterbridge’s wife, her property may eventually become his to share, particularly if the assets are not kept separate.”
“Intolerable,” her mother declared.
For her part, Belinda didn’t feel like an heiress. In fact, from all of her family’s focus on making a good match, she felt more stifled than liberated by the Wentworth wealth. True, she was the beneficiary of a small trust fund, but those resources only made it bearable for her to live in Manhattan’s high-rent market on her skimpy art specialist’s salary.
She’d been reminded time and again that her task was to carry the Wentworth standard forward for another generation. She was never unaware of her position as an only child. So far, however, she could not have made a bigger mash of things.
“I’ll deal with the marquess,” Belinda said grimly, stopping herself from her nervous habit of chewing her lip.
Somehow, she had to untangle herself from her marriage.
Three
“Thank you for meeting me today,” she said, somewhat incongruously, as she stepped into a conference room in Colin’s business offices at the Time Warner Center.
She was hoping to keep matters on a polite and productive footing. Or at least to start that way.
Colin gave a quick nod of his head. “You’re welcome.”
Belinda watched as Colin’s gaze went unerringly to her now ring-free hand.
Her heart beat loudly in her chest.
She’d wanted a meeting place that was private but not too private. She knew Colin owned a spectacular penthouse high above them in the same complex—it was one of the unavoidable pieces of information that she’d come across about him in the news in the past couple of years—but she’d shied away from facing him there. And her own apartment farther uptown was too small.
It would have been hard enough to confront Colin under any circumstances. He was wealthy, titled and imposing—not to mention savvy and calculating. But he was also her former lover and could lay claim to knowing her intimately. Their night together would always be between them. She’d seen what they could do with a hotel room…What they could do in his apartment didn’t bear thinking about. At all. Ever.
Belinda scanned him warily.
He wore a business suit and held himself with the easy and self-assured charm of a sleek panther ready to toy with a kitty. He carried the blood of generations of conquerors in his veins, and it showed.
Belinda felt awareness skate over her skin, a good deal of which was exposed. She was dressed in a V-neck belted dress and strappy sandals, having arranged to have this meeting during her lunch break at Lansing’s.
Colin gestured to the sideboard. “Coffee or tea?”
She set down her handbag on the long conference table. “No, thank you.”
He perused her too thoroughly. “You are rather even-keeled, in sharp contrast to last week.”
“I’ve chosen to remain the calm in the storm,” she replied. “The rumors have run amok, the groom has decamped for the other side of the Atlantic and the wedding gifts are being returned.”
“Ah.” He sat on a corner of the conference table.
“I hope you’re satisfied.”
“It’s a good start.”
She quelled her ire and looked at him straight on. “I am here to make you see reason.”
He was ill-mannered enough to chuckle.
“I know you’re busy—” too busy to have obtained an annulment, obviously “—so I’ll go straight to the point. How is it possible that we’re still married?”
Colin shrugged. “The annulment was never finalized with the court.”
“That’s what you said.” She smelled a rat—or more precisely, a cunning aristocrat. “I hope you fired your lawyer for the matter.”
She took a steadying breath. The lawyer she had recently consulted had confirmed that, as far as state records showed, she and Colin were still married because there was no record of an annulment or even of papers being filed.
One way or the other, she had to deal with matters as they unfortunately stood.
“It’s futile to look back,” Colin remarked, as if reading her mind. “The issue is what do we do now.”
Belinda widened her eyes. “Now? We obtain an annulment or divorce, of course. New York recently did me the enormous favor of introducing no-fault divorce, so I’ll no longer have to prove that you committed adultery or abandoned me. I know that much from some simple research.”
Colin looked unperturbed. “Ah, for the good old days when marriage meant coverture and only a husband could own property or prove adultery.”
She didn’t appreciate his humor. “Yes, how unfortunate for you.”
He lifted his lips. “There’s only one problem.”
“Oh? Only one?” She was helpless to stop the sarcasm.
Colin nodded. “Yes. A no-fault divorce can still be contested, starting with the service of divorce papers.”
She stared at him dumbly. What was he saying?
She narrowed her eyes. “So you’re saying …”
“I’m not granting you an easy divorce, in New York or anywhere else.”
“You ruined my wedding, and now you’re going to ruin my divorce?” she asked, unable to keep disbelief from her voice.
“Your wedding was already ruined because we were still married,” Colin countered. “Even if I hadn’t interrupted the ceremony, your marriage to Dillingham would have been considered void ab initio due to bigamy. It would have been