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They rode back in companionable silence, making desultory conversation.
“I thought I’d make you happy with tickets to Aïda,” Colin joked at one point, “but it would seem you prefer to cry when you go to the opera.”
“You weren’t unaffected by the performance, either,” she parried. “You wouldn’t be an opera fan otherwise.”
He cast her a sidelong look, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. A smile played at his lips. “I was enjoying watching you as much as the opera singers on stage.”
She heated. “You were not watching me!”
“How do you know?”
She bit her lip, because of course she had been found out. The only way she could know for sure that he hadn’t been watching her was by being aware of him.
“I know,” she insisted. “You were too busy playing with my hand.”
Colin laughed, low and deep, and then faced the road again.
Belinda glanced out the window. They were speeding toward Halstead Hall and already the air
between them had become more intimate.
When they arrived at the house, everything was still and dark. Colin had told the butler not to await their return from London. Some of the staff, of course, had the day off.
Belinda hesitated in the hall, unsure of what to do.
“Nightcap?” Colin asked, offering a solution to her problem.
“All right.” She nodded, willing to put off the climb up the stairs to their adjoining suites.
She followed him into the library, where she disposed of her evening bag and coat while Colin busied himself at the side bar.
When Colin returned, she gratefully accepted the glass of clear liquid on ice from him.
“Cheers,” he toasted, raising his glass. “To new beginnings.”
She took a sip at the same time as he did, and her eyes widened. “Water?”
“Of course.”
He took her glass from her and set both glasses down on his nearby desk.
This was not what she’d envisioned when he’d suggested a nightcap. She’d pictured imbibing something strong—to fortify her.
Colin trailed one finger up her arm to her shoulder. “It’s a good thing neither of us has had a real drink.”
“Why?” she asked, stumbling over the word. “So we don’t do anything rash and regret it again?”
He gave a small smile. “No, so we won’t have any excuses when we do.”
Belinda’s heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. “We have to stop this.”
“Do we?” he joked, and then looked around. “Last time I checked, we were married. We even live here.”
“The marquess ravishing his wife in the library? It sounds like a bad round of Clue.”
“If I weren’t so aroused right now, I might suggest we play.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing? Playing?” she parried. “This is a game.”
