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Tamara arched a brow. “Worse?”
How had her friend guessed? She was susceptible to Colin, more so than she had wanted to admit.
Belinda hesitated and then confessed, “Diary, I slept with him.”
Pia gasped.
Tamara laughed. “We’ve all been there and now I have a baby to prove it.”
Exactly, Belinda thought. In contrast, there’d be no baby for her—at least with Colin. She shifted in her seat.
“Just be careful,” Tamara said. “I’m afraid that Colin
is cut from the same cloth as his two counterparts sitting downstairs—Pia’s husband and, much as I love him, mine. In other words, he should come with a warning label.”
She hardly needed the warning, Belinda thought, when the sensible part of her wholly agreed.
“The path of true love never runs smooth,” Pia offered.
Belinda knew Pia wouldn’t be quelled in her romantic notions, but neither would the continuing complicated history of the Granvilles and the Wentworths.
Two days after visiting Sawyer and Tamara, Belinda prepared to attend a dinner-dance with Colin on an estate near Halstead Hall in honor of a new exhibition of eighteenth-century Chinese art. The guests were to be treated to an advance private viewing.
Belinda wondered if Colin had wanted to accept the invitation to please her, because he knew art was her passion as well as her career.
She scanned the contents of her closet. She moved aside one hanger after another. Though Colin had announced she had her own funds as the Marchioness of Easterbridge, she had decided to wear a gown that she already owned.
She didn’t really have time to shop. What’s more, she already owned a small but formal wardrobe because her career required her to attend the occasional black-tie affair. She’d paid for her designer wardrobe by carefully budgeting her funds and shopping the sales.
After debating a few minutes, she chose a floor-length beige tulle and beaded dress that cleverly skimmed her curves. Its color matched and blended with her skin tone.
Later that night, Colin’s reaction didn’t disappoint.
When she walked into the parlor where he was awaiting her, his face took on an appreciative expression.
Belinda felt her pulse pick up—and not only because of the look on Colin’s face. If she thought she’d ever get used to him in a tuxedo, she was being proved mightily wrong.
He had an old-world elegance. His hair gleamed glossy dark in the light, and he looked impossibly broad and masculine in his suit.
The chauffeur appeared in the doorway. “I will await you outside at the car, my lord.”
Colin’s eyes flickered away from her for an instant. “Very well, Thomas.”
Belinda composed herself. The flower-motif tiara that Colin had previously given her was nestled in her upswept hair.
“You look…” Colin’s voice trailed away, as if he’d been robbed of words. “Ethereal.”
She felt the words like a caress. “Thank you.”
“I have something for you.”
She watched as he reached for a velvet case on a nearby table and then approached her.
He opened the case for her inspection, and her breath caught.
“Yet again, it appears we’re on the same wavelength,” he commented, his tone deep.
The velvet case contained a dazzling diamond choker. The styling marked it as vintage, probably from the Victorian or Edwardian era.
