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One of the things she’d always loved about the southern corner of Berkshire where Downlands and Halstead Hall were located was that it was just a short trip to London, making a night in town more than possible.
She was happy and excited when Colin bought tickets for good seats, which she knew were expensive and often hard to come by. She wanted to think he’d thought of her when doing so, but she was also enough of a realist to remember Uncle Hugh’s words: since Colin had suffered a blow to his ego when she’d nearly walked down the aisle with another man, of course he’d be eager to line up public engagements for the two of them.
She dressed with care in a one-shouldered midnight-blue cocktail dress and croc-embossed peep-toe pumps. She had caught back her hair in a loose knot. She knew Colin would be in a suit and tie.
In fact, her heart palpitated excitedly as she came down the main staircase at Halstead Hall, all the while aware of Colin, handsome and distinguished, looking up at her from the landing.
Their postnup had just been finalized—she’d reviewed and signed it—so there was nothing barring Colin from her bed anymore. She also knew this was the twenty-first century and a marquess couldn’t just order her around. Still, she knew that she was morally obligated to stand by her agreement.
She tried to focus on the fact that she had signed a contract. She wouldn’t let herself think about standing face-to-face with Colin in his bedroom, his hot eyes on her while his hands skimmed over her sensitized skin, making her desperate with the desire for him to undress her.
She wouldn’t think about the pleasure to be found in his arms.
No, she wouldn’t.
Because they dined at home, they went directly to London’s Royal Opera House in Covent Garden for the performance. Colin drove them in his Aston Martin, eschewing the services of Halstead Hall’s resident driver.
Inside the opera house, the crowd was already milling. Colin introduced her to a couple of acquaintances who greeted him, and Belinda thought she did a credible job of smiling and being an appropriate consort.
When she and Colin eventually ended their conversations and made their way up to their seats in a front box, she had trouble relaxing. She almost wished Pia and Tamara were there for support. At least their husbands were friends of Colin’s with whom she was familiar and comfortable.
When she and Colin took their seats with a close view of the stage, Belinda caught her breath. No need for opera glasses, she thought whimsically. The view was spectacular.
She perused her program until, minutes later, the lights blinked and dimmed, signaling the beginning of the performance.
She was just sliding into the start of the opera when Colin clasped her hand, folding it gently into his. She couldn’t help focusing on the contact.
His hand was bigger, tougher and rougher than hers. It was an apt metaphor for their relationship, she thought. Yet, his clasp was surprisingly gentle, and his lightest touch had an electric effect on her.
She felt tossed by a storm of emotion mimicking the drama onstage. There were two shows here tonight—the one in which the singers participated, and Colin’s private one for her benefit.
He traced over her hand with his thumb—an airy and rhythmic movement that might be mistaken for a soothing motion but that caused a quickening tempo of tension inside her.
She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He faced forward and his face gave nothing away—except he continued his light touch on her hand.
She admitted that Colin had quite charmed her lately. Logically, she wished it were otherwise, but she was finding him hard to resist.
Belinda parted her lips on a sigh as she focused on the stage again.
The military commander, Radames, was caught between his love for Aïda, a captured princess, and loyalty to his Pharaoh—whose daughter, Amneris, had unrequited love for her father’s commanding officer.
Belinda felt her heart clench as the opera built to its tragic climax. She almost couldn’t bear to watch the final scene, where Radames and Aïda were destined to die together.
She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and blinked rapidly. Belatedly, she became aware of Colin squeezing her hand, his thumb smoothing over the pulse at her inner wrist.
The audience burst into applause as the final scene faded to its close. Belinda bit her lip and distractedly accepted Colin’s offer of a tissue. She felt silly—she’d known how Verdi’s opera ended. But still, she cried.
She told herself that the image of star-crossed lovers was iconic. Radames and Aïda were the Romeo and Juliet of another era. Neither couple bore any resemblance to her and Colin—not in the least.
“Did you enjoy the performance?” Colin asked, his voice deep and low.
“I loved it,” she croaked.
He chuckled then, and she gave a weak laugh—because her tears clashed with her statement.
“Let’s get home.”
Belinda felt a rush of emotion at Colin’s words. It was the first time he’d used the word home with her to refer to Halstead Hall, but of course she knew what he meant without thought. Had she already started to think of Halstead Hall as home?
