Bishop Newbury cleared his throat.

“Well, it appears I’m compelled to resort to words that I’ve never had to use before.” He paused. “Upon what grounds do you object to this marriage?”

Colin Granville looked into her eyes.

“Upon the grounds that Belinda is married to me.”

Belinda’s eyes narrowed. She could detect mockery in Colin’s expression.

Damn him. He was enjoying this.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” Belinda stated evenly.

Colin looked too sure of himself. “Mistaken about our visit to a wedding chapel in Las Vegas over two years ago? Regrettably, I must disagree.”

There was a collective gasp from the assembled guests.

What could she say that wouldn’t add to the damage? I’m sure my brief and secret marriage to this man was annulled?

No one was supposed to know about her impetuous and hasty elopement.

Dear Reader,

With this book, I finally realized my goal of writing a series about aristocratic grooms—all tied together by a wedding disaster.

Belinda Wentworth previously secretly wed her family’s sworn enemy, Colin Granville, in Las Vegas. It isn’t until her wedding day to another, however, that she discovers—in front of all the guests, no less—that her marriage to Colin was never annulled. The rest, as they say, is history!

If you enjoy the secondary characters in this book, they have their separate stories, which also begin with the day that Colin crashes his own wife’s wedding. Tamara and Sawyer featured in His Black Sheep Bride, and Pia and Hawk in One Night with Prince Charming. I hope you like reading about them!

I am always thrilled to hear from readers. You can e-mail me through my website, www.annadepalo.com, or simply friend me on Facebook or follow me on Twitter, www.twitter.com/anna_depalo.

Best always,

Anna

About the Author

A Harvard graduate and former intellectual property attorney, ANNA DePALO lives with her husband, son and daughter in New York City. Her books have consistently hit bestsellers list and Nielsen BookScan’s list of top one hundred bestselling romances. Her books have won the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Golden Leaf and the Book Buyer’s Best, and have been published in more than twenty countries. Readers are invited to reach her at www.annadepalo.com, friend her on Facebook or follow her on Twitter, www.twitter.com/anna_depalo.

Improperly Wed
Anna DePalo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one is for You, the reader,

the reason I write,

and for my editor, Elizabeth Mazer

One

“If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now or else forever hold your peace.”

Belinda smiled encouragingly at Bishop Newbury.

The reverend returned her smile and opened his mouth to continue…before fixating on something in the pews over Belinda’s shoulder.

Belinda heard it then, too. The footfalls sounded ever closer.

No…it couldn’t be.

“I object.”

Belinda heard the commanding words fall like an anvil on her heart.

A sick feeling gripped her. She closed her eyes.

She recognized that voice—its tone bland but edged with mockery. She’d heard it a million times in her dreams…her most illicit fantasies—the ones that left her blushing and appalled when she woke. And when she hadn’t heard it there, she’d had the misfortune of catching it from a distance at a society event or in a television interview or two.

There was a rustling and murmuring in the congregation. Beside her, Tod had gone still. Bishop Newbury looked quizzical.

Slowly, Belinda turned. Tod took his cue from her lead.

Even though she knew what—no, who—to expect, her eyes widened as they met those of the man who should have been a sworn enemy to a Wentworth like her. Colin Granville, the Marquess of Easterbridge, heir to the family that had been locked in a feud with hers for centuries…and the person who knew her most humiliating secret.

When her eyes connected with his, she felt longing and dread at the same time. Even under cover of her veil, she could tell there was challenge and possessiveness in his gaze.

He loomed large, even though he wasn’t up at the altar with her. His face was hard and uncompromising, his jaw square. Only even features and an aquiline nose saved him from looking harsh.

His hair was the same inky dark brown that she remembered and a shade or two darker than her own chestnut. Brows winged over eyes as dark as they were fathomless.

Belinda raised her chin and met his challenge head-on.

How did one crash a wedding? Apparently, the ticket was a navy business suit and canary-yellow tie. She supposed she should be glad he’d at least settled on formal attire.

Then again, she’d hardly seen Colin the real-estate mogul in anything other than a power suit that did nothing to disguise his athletic build. Well, except for that one night …

“What is the meaning of this, Easterbridge?” her uncle Hugh demanded as he rose from his seat in the first pew.

Belinda supposed someone should be standing to defend the honor of the Wentworths, and Uncle Hugh—as the head of the family—was the logical choice.

She scanned the settled mass of New York and London high society. Her family seemed aghast, but other guests looked fascinated by the unfolding drama.

Her bridesmaids and groomsmen appeared ill at ease, even her friend, Tamara Kincaid, who was always self-assured.

Off to the side of the church, her other close friend and wedding planner, Pia Lumley, had blanched.

“I say, Easterbridge,” Tod spoke up, irritated and alarmed. “You were not invited today.”

Colin shifted his gaze from the bride to her intended, and his lips curled. “Invited or not, I would hazard to guess that my position in Belinda’s life entitles me to a say in these proceedings, wouldn’t you?”

Belinda was acutely aware of the hundreds of pairs of interested eyes witnessing the show unfolding at the altar.

Bishop Newbury frowned, clearly perplexed, and then cleared his throat. “Well, it appears I’m compelled to resort to words that I’ve never had to use before.” He paused. “Upon what grounds do you object to this marriage?”

Colin Granville, Marquess of Easterbridge, looked into her eyes.

“Upon the grounds that Belinda is married to me.”

As the words reverberated off the soaring walls of the cathedral-size church, gasps sounded all around. Behind Belinda, the reverend began to cough. Beside her, Tod stiffened.

Belinda’s eyes narrowed. She could detect mockery in Colin’s expression. It lurked in the area around his eyes and in the slight lift to the end of his mouth.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” Belinda stated, hoping against hope that she could prevent this scene from getting worse.

As a matter of precise accuracy, she was correct. They had been married oh-so-briefly, but no longer were.

Still, Colin looked too sure of himself. “Mistaken about our visit to a wedding chapel in Las Vegas over two years ago? Regrettably, I must disagree.”

There was a collective gasp from the assembled guests.

Belinda’s stomach plummeted. Her face felt suddenly hot.

She stopped herself from replying—for what could she say that wouldn’t add to the damage? I’m sure my brief and secret marriage to the Marquess of Easterbridge was annulled?

No one was supposed to know about her impetuous and hasty elopement.

Belinda knew she had to move this scene to a place where she could face down her demons—or, rather, one titled demon in particular—in a less public way. “Shall we resolve this matter somewhere more private?”

Without waiting for a response, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she gathered up the skirt of her wedding dress in one hand and swept down the altar steps, careful not to make eye contact with anyone among the congregated guests as she held her head high.

The sun shone through the church’s large stained-glass windows. She walked intermittently through beams of sunlight slanting through the air.

Outside, Belinda knew, it was a perfect June day. Inside, it was another story.

Her perfect wedding was ruined by the man whom family and tradition dictated she should loathe most in the world. If she hadn’t been wise enough before to think he was despicable—on that one night in particular—she certainly did now.

When she drew abreast of the marquess, he turned to follow her across the front of the church and through an open doorway that led into a corridor with several doors. Behind Colin, Belinda heard Tod, her erstwhile groom, follow.

When she stopped in the corridor, she heard a louder rustling and murmuring break out in the church. Now that the principal parties had exited the area of worship, she assumed the congregants felt at greater liberty to voice their whispers. She could only hope that Pia would be able to quiet this affair, though she was realistic enough to believe, too, that the effort would be mostly in vain. In the meantime, she could hear Bishop Newbury state to the wedding guests that there had been an unexpected delay.

She ducked into an unoccupied room nearby. Looking around, she concluded from the sparse furnishings and lack of personal belongings that the room probably served as a staging area for church functions.

Turning around, Belinda watched both the groom and her alleged husband follow her into the room. Colin closed the door on the curious faces still looking at them from the main area of the church.

She threw back her veil and rounded on Easterbridge. “How could you!”

Colin was close, and she was practically vibrating with tension, her heart beating loudly. Until now, Colin was the embodiment of her biggest secret and her greatest transgression. She’d tried to avoid or ignore him, but today running was out of the question.

Outrage was, of course, not only the logical but also the easiest emotion to adopt.

“You had better have a good reason for your actions, Easterbridge,” Tod said, his face tight. “What possible explanation can you have for ruining our wedding with these outlandish lies?”

Colin looked unperturbed. “A wedding certificate.”

“I don’t know what alternate reality you’ve been living in, Easterbridge,” Tod replied, “but no one else is amused by it.”

Colin merely looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“Our marriage was annulled,” she blurted. “It never existed!”

Tod looked crestfallen. “So it’s true? You and Easterbridge are married?”

“We were. Past tense,” Belinda responded. “And only for a matter of hours, years ago. It was nothing.”

“Hours?” Colin mused. “How many hours are in two years? Seventeen thousand four hundred seventy-two, by my calculation.”

Belinda rued Colin’s facility with math. She’d been stupidly enamored by it—by him—at the gaming tables before their impetuous Las Vegas elopement. And now it had come back to haunt her. But how could it be true that they’d been married for the last two years? She’d signed the papers—it was all meant to be wiped away.

“You were supposed to have obtained an annulment,” she accused.

“The annulment was never finalized,” Colin responded calmly. “Ergo, we are still married.”

Her eyes rounded. She was a person who prided herself on remaining unruffled. After all, she’d faced down the occasional recalcitrant client in her position as an art specialist at renowned auction house Lansing’s. But if her brief history with Colin was anything to judge by, the marquess had an unparalleled ability to get under her skin.

“What do you mean by not finalized?” she demanded. “I know I signed annulment papers. I distinctly remember doing so.” Her brow furrowed with sudden suspicion. “Unless you misrepresented what I was signing?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” Colin said with enviable composure. “An annulment is more complicated than simply signing a contract. In our case, the annulment papers were not properly filed with the court for judgment—an important last step.”

“And whose fault was that?” she demanded.

Colin looked her in the eye. “The matter was overlooked.”

“Of course,” she snapped. “And you waited until today to tell me?”

Colin shrugged. “It wasn’t an issue till now.”

She was flabbergasted by his sangfroid. Was this Colin’s way of getting back at her for leaving him in the lurch?

“I don’t believe this.” Tod threw up his hands, his reaction echoing her feelings.

She had decided to proceed without legal counsel in her annulment with Colin, even though she’d had only a cursory understanding of family law. She hadn’t wanted anyone—even a family attorney—to know of her incredible lapse in judgment.

Now she regretted the decision not to hire a lawyer. Clearly she’d committed another error in judgment. Not only had she not made sure her annulment had been properly finalized—because she’d wanted to forget about the whole sorry episode in Las Vegas as soon as possible—but as a result she’d put her trust in Colin to see the annulment through.

Colin’s gaze swept over her. “Very nice. Certainly a departure from the red sequin ensemble that you wore during our ceremony.”

“Red is an appropriate color when marrying the devil, wouldn’t you agree?” she tossed back.

“You didn’t act as if I were the devil at the time,” he responded silkily, his voice lowering. “In fact, I recall—”

“I wasn’t myself,” she bit out.

I was out of my mind. That’s right, she thought feverishly. Wasn’t insanity a basis for annulment almost everywhere?

“Insane?” Colin queried. “Already trying to create a watertight defense to bigamy?”

“I did not commit bigamy.”

“Only through my timely intervention.”

The man was infuriating. “Timely? We’ve been married two years according to your calculation.”

Colin inclined his head in acknowledgment. “And counting.”

She was incredulous at his audacity. But then she supposed that, as her spouse, Colin felt he took precedence over Tod, an almost husband. And he’d be right, damn him. Even physically, Colin was more imposing. He was the same height as Tod but more muscular and formidable.

She rued her continuing awareness of Colin as a man. Still, it was a situation she intended to rectify forthwith to the extent she could.

“How long have you known we were still married?” she demanded.

Colin shrugged. “Does it matter if I arrived in time?”

She smelled a rat from his evasive response. He’d wanted to create a scene.

Still, he gave nothing away.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” she stated.

“I look forward to it.”

“We’re getting an annulment.”

“Not today, however. Not even the state of Nevada works that fast.”

He had a point there. Her wedding day was well and truly ruined.

She stared at him in impotent fury. “There are grounds,” she insisted, reassuring herself. “I clearly must have been insane when I married you.”

“We agreed on lack of consent due to intoxication, you’ll recall,” he parried.

“Yes, yours!” she retorted, annoyed by his continued sangfroid.

He inclined his head. “By our mutual agreement, due to a better alternative.”

“Fraud should have sufficed,” she responded tightly. “You completely misrepresented your character to me that night in Las Vegas, and after today, no one would disagree with me. This latest bit of Granville chicanery is for the history books.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Chicanery?”

“Yes,” she insisted. “Delivering the news on my wedding day that you were derelict in filing our annulment papers.”

“No need to impugn my ancestors by association,” he responded calmly.

“Of course, there is,” she contradicted. “Your ancestors are why we’re in this current mess. They’re the reason why—” she gestured in the direction of the church “—the crowd out there was electrified by the news that a Wentworth had married a Granville. What are we going to do?”

“Stay married?” he suggested mockingly.

“Never!”

Belinda turned to exit just as Uncle Hugh and Bishop Newbury barged in.

As she brushed past her uncle, she heard her relative demand, “I hope you have a good explanation, Easterbridge, though I can’t imagine what it is!”

Apparently, all hell had broken loose in the hallowed sanctum.

Revenge.

A sordid word.

Still, revenge hinted at personal animosity. Instead, Colin mused, the Wentworths and Granvilles had been after each other for generations.

Perhaps feud or vendetta would be more appropriate.

His relationship with Belinda was intimately intertwined with the Wentworth-Granville feud. The feud was the reason that his and Belinda’s passion for each other in Las Vegas had been infused with the thrill of the forbidden. It was also why Belinda had run out on him the next morning.

Ever since, he’d been set on a path to make Belinda acknowledge the visceral connection between the two of them—despite the fact that he was a Granville. His plan for doing so involved complicated maneuvers to vanquish the Wentworths, once and for all, and thus end the Wentworth-Granville feud.

Colin gazed at the panoramic view afforded by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his thirtieth-floor duplex condominium, waiting for the visitor who would inevitably arrive. The Time Warner Center, at one end of Columbus Circle, afforded a wealth of privacy as well as luxury to well-heeled foreigners seeking a pied-à-terre in New York City.

He slid his hands into his pockets and contemplated the treetops of Central Park in the distance. Because it was a Sunday, he was in shirtsleeves rather than a business suit. It was a beautiful sunny day, much as yesterday had been.

Yesterday, of course, was what had almost been his wife’s wedding day.

Belinda had appeared divine in her wedding dress, though her expression hadn’t been celestial or angelic when she’d confronted him. Rather, she’d looked as if she was torn between cheerfully throttling him and dying of mortification.

Colin smiled at the image that crossed his mind. She had a passionate nature beneath her prepossessed exterior, and it drew him to her. He wanted to strip away the smooth veneer to the substance of the woman beneath.

If yesterday was any indication, Belinda hadn’t changed much in two years. She had just as much passion—around him, anyway. Her erstwhile fiancé didn’t seem to bring out the same fire. She’d been cool and collected by Dillingham’s side, beautiful but detached. The smooth porcelain-doll facade had been in place—at least until he had interrupted the wedding service.

Her rich dark hair had been swept up and away from a face that was still arrestingly lush. Dark brows arched delicately over hazel eyes, an aquiline nose and lips too full for decency. Her ivory wedding dress had hugged a curvaceous figure. Its short lace sleeves and the lace over the décolleté were the only things that saved it from being immodest.

The moment she’d turned away from the altar and toward him, he’d felt a wave of heat and a tightening of the gut, even with the whisper of her veil between them.

Colin clenched his jaw. Belinda had looked breathtaking, just like on their wedding day. But when she’d married him, she’d been full of excitement and anticipation, eyes alight and those sinful lips spread in a dazzling smile. None of that stuffy, stilted Wentworth hauteur, just a stunning blend of passion and sensuality. The remoteness hadn’t emerged until the following morning. But even now, Colin was pleased to see he could still get a reaction out of her.

After their confrontation in the church staging area, Belinda had swept out of the room. Colin wouldn’t be surprised if she’d gotten into a cab and gone directly to her attorney’s office. His mocking suggestion that they remain married had apparently been the last straw, as far as his wife was concerned.

The wedding reception had gone on, he’d heard. Belinda’s wedding planner and friend, Pia Lumley, had seen to it at the Wentworth family’s request. Regrettably, however, none of the three principal characters—the bride, her husband or the groom—had been present.

Colin stared broodingly at the magnificent view from his windows.

The enmity between the Wentworths and Granvilles ran deep. The two families were longstanding neighbors, landowners and, most importantly, rivals in England’s Berkshire countryside. From skirmishes over property lines to allegations of political treachery and dastardly seduction of female relations, the flare-ups between the families had entered into folklore.

He, of course, as the current titular head of the Granville family, had written a fitting chapter to the long-running story by eloping in Las Vegas with Belinda Wentworth.

Over the years, he had found Belinda intriguing. Of course, he’d been curious about her. When he’d seen his opportunity to get to know her better, he’d taken it—first at a friend’s cocktail party in Vegas and soon afterward, in a casino.

By the end of the night at the Bellagio casino, he’d known he wanted Belinda like he’d wanted no woman before her. There had been something about her, and it went beyond the both of them being former competitive swimmers and current opera fans.

She was a dark and striking beauty, more than a match for him in wits. Of course, that same wit was what had made her floor him, as no woman had, at the end of the evening with the announcement that she couldn’t sleep with him without a marriage certificate.

Of course, he hadn’t been able to resist the challenge. Perhaps his winnings at the gaming tables had made him believe he could win no matter what the odds. He’d been willing to take the gamble for a night in bed with Belinda.

And she hadn’t disappointed.

He felt a tightening in his gut even now at the memory, more than two years on.

And then yesterday, he’d used the element of surprise to his advantage by crashing Belinda’s wedding. He’d only recently discovered that she was to be wed. He’d also guessed that nothing short of a public spectacle would have caused Belinda’s wedding plans to fall apart. If he’d given her advance warning, she might have attempted to persuade him to finalize an annulment with no one being the wiser.

Tod Dillingham, who was concerned with status and appearances, would not know how to forgive a public transgression like yesterday. At least, Colin was banking on it.

At the chime of the apartment door, he turned away from the view. Just in time.

“Colin,” his mother announced as she sailed in, “an incredible rumor has reached me. You must deny it immediately.”

Colin stepped aside to let her in. “If it is incredible, why are you here seeking a denial?”

His mother’s flair for drama never ceased to amaze him. Fortunately, these days he was usually at a safe remove, since she considered her London flat to be home base. On the other hand, it was his bad luck that a trip of hers to New York in order to visit friends and attend a party or two happened to coincide with Belinda’s wedding date. He wondered idly if his younger sister, Sophie, was enjoying a London temporarily free of their mother’s presence.

His mother tossed a glance back at him, a sour expression on her face. “Now is no time for you to be jesting.”

“Was I?” he mused as he shut the door.

“Tosh! The family name is being besmirched.” His mother put down her Chanel bag and settled herself in a chair in the living room, after giving her coat to the housekeeper who magically materialized for a moment. “I demand answers.”

“Of course,” Colin responded, remaining standing but folding his arms. He acknowledged the housekeeper with a grateful nod.

His mother looked incongruous in the contemporary setting. He was much more used to her in a traditional English sitting room, surrounded by chintz prints and stripes, with old and faded family photos adorning the console table and piano. Certainly she was used to a complete staff of servants.

He and his mother both waited, until his mother raised her eyebrows.

Colin cleared his throat. “What is the rumor precisely?”

“As if you didn’t know!”

When he continued to remain silent, his mother sighed with resignation.

“I’ve heard the most horrible gossip that you disrupted the nuptials of the Wentworth chit. What’s more, you apparently announced you were married to her.” His mother held up her hand. “Naturally, I cut off the horrible harridan who was repeating the vicious rumor. I informed her that you would never have put in an appearance at a Wentworth wedding. Ergo, you could not have stated that—”

“Who was this teller of tall tales?”

His mother stopped, frowned and then waved a hand dismissively. “A reader of Mrs. Jane Hollings, who writes a column for some paper.”

“The New York Intelligencer.”

His mother looked at him in distracted surprise. “Yes, I believe that’s it. She works for the Earl of Melton. Whatever could Melton be thinking to own that rag of a paper?”

“I believe that tabloid turns a healthy profit, particularly online.”

His mother sniffed. “It was the downfall of the aristocracy when even an earl went into trade.”

“No, World War I was the downfall of the aristocracy,” Colin contradicted sardonically.

“You can’t possibly have turned up uninvited to the Wentworth nuptials,” his mother repeated.

“Of course not.”

His mother relaxed.

“When Belinda Wentworth’s nuptials actually took place two years ago, I was very much invited—as her groom.”

His mother stiffened.

“My station as a marquess, attributable to centuries of proper inbreeding,” he continued wryly, “forced me to prevent a crime from being committed when it was within my means to do so once word reached me of Belinda’s intention to marry again.”

His mother sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you saying that I have been succeeded as the Marchioness of Easterbridge by a Wentworth?”

“It is precisely what I’m saying.”

His mother looked as if she were experiencing vertigo. The news seemed to hit her with the force of a stockmarket crash. Naturally, Colin had been counting on it; otherwise she would have been distinctly not amused by his insouciance.

“I don’t suppose she changed her name to Granville in that chapel in Las Vegas?”

Colin shook his head.

His mother shuddered. “Belinda Wentworth, Marchioness of Easterbridge? The mind revolts at the thought.”

“Don’t worry,” he offered, “I don’t believe Belinda has used the title or has any intention of doing so.”

If Belinda did use the title, his mother would be forced to style herself as the Dowager Marchioness of Easterbridge in order to avoid confusion. It would be viewed as adding insult to injury, Colin was sure.

His mother looked exasperated. “What on earth possessed you to marry a Wentworth in the first place?”

Colin shrugged. “I imagine you could find the answer among the multitude of reasons that other people get married.” He was unwilling to divulge too much of his private life to his mother. Like hell was he going to talk about passion. “Why did you and Father marry?”

His mother pressed her lips together.

He’d known his question would end her query. His parents had married at least partly because they were social equals breathing the same rarefied air. As far as he could tell, it hadn’t been a bad marriage until his father’s death five years ago from a stroke, but it had been a proper and suitable one.

“Surely you can’t mean to stay married.”

“Never fear. I wouldn’t be surprised if Belinda was consulting her lawyer as we speak.”

Colin wondered what his mother would say if she knew that Belinda wanted out of their marriage but he didn’t.

At least, not yet—not until his goal was reached.

In fact, he thought, he needed to call his lawyer and find out how the negotiations for his purchase of the property in question were going.

When the deal went through, Belinda would have no choice but to engage him—face matters without running or dodging.

Two

She’d made all the right moves in life…until a night in Las Vegas with Colin Granville.

Belinda tossed a sweater into the suitcase on her bed with more force than necessary.

She’d read history of art at Oxford and then worked at a series of auction houses before landing her current gig as a specialist in impressionist and modern art for posh auction house Lansing’s.

She was usually punctual, quietly ambitious and tastefully dressed. She considered herself to be responsible and levelheaded.

In the process, she’d made her family happy. She’d been the dutiful child—if not always doing what they dictated, then at least not rebelling.

She was never the subject of gossip…until this past weekend. One glaring misstep was now the subject of breathless coverage in Mrs. Hollings’ Pink Pages column in The New York Intelligencer:

It was to be the society wedding of the year.

Except—oh, my!

In case word hasn’t reached your tender ears yet, dear reader, this town is abuzz with the news that the Wentworth-Dillingham wedding was crashed by none other than the Marquess of Easterbridge, who proceeded to make the astonishing claim that his short-lived marriage to the lovely Ms. Wentworth two years ago in Las Vegas—of all places!—had never been legally annulled.

Belinda winced as the words from Mrs. Hollings’ column reverberated through her mind.

Mrs. Hollings had simply fired the first salvo. Damn the social-networking sites. The fiasco at St. Bart’s Church had gone viral in the past three days.

She didn’t even want to think about her family’s continued reaction. She’d avoided calls from her mother and Uncle Hugh in the past few days. She knew she’d have to deal with them eventually, but she wasn’t prepared to yet.

Instead, yesterday she’d commiserated over the phone with her closest girlfriends, Tamara and Pia. They’d both been full of sympathy for Belinda’s situation, and they’d admitted that the would-be wedding had brought them troubles of their own. Tamara had confessed that she avoided one of the groomsmen at the wedding, Sawyer Langsford, Earl of Melton, because their families had long cherished the idea that the two would wed. Meanwhile, Pia had admitted that she’d discovered one of the wedding guests was her former lover, James “Hawk” Carsdale, Duke of Hawkshire, who had left her without so much as a goodbye after one night three years ago, when he’d presented himself as merely Mr. James Fielding.

In short, the aborted wedding had been a disastrous day for her and her two girlfriends.

Fortunately, Belinda thought, she had a ticket out of town. Tomorrow morning, she would be leaving her tidy little Upper West Side one bedroom for a business trip to England. Even before the wedding that wasn’t, she and Tod had decided to postpone a honeymoon for a later date—one that was more convenient for their mutual work schedules. And now she was glad she already had a business trip planned. She couldn’t outrun her problems, but some space and distance from the scene of the crime—namely, New York—would help clear her mind so she could come up with a plan.

Ironically, while her wedding date to Tod was supposed to seal her image as the perfect and dutiful society bride, it had done the exact opposite, thanks to Colin’s appearance. Her wedding was to have been her apogee, but instead it had been her downfall.

Still, an annulment or divorce should be easy enough to obtain. People got them every day, didn’t they? She herself had thought she’d received one.

She paused in the process of packing, sweater in hand, and gazed sightlessly at the clutter on top of her dresser.

She recalled how she’d stared at the annulment papers when they’d arrived for her signature and then pushed aside the quick stab of pain that they had engendered. They were simply a reminder of the blemish on the resume of her life, she’d told herself. But no one needed to know about her appalling mistake.

Belinda dropped the sweater into her suitcase and swallowed against the sudden panicky feeling in the pit of her stomach. She cupped her forehead, as if she could will her proverbial headache away.

But she knew there was no hope of making a six-foot-plus wealthy marquess disappear from her life with a poof!

Even before that fateful night in Vegas, she’d run into Colin at social functions occasionally over the years and had found him, well, compelling. But she was too aware of the history between their two families to ever talk directly to him. On top of it all, he was too masculine, too sternly good-looking, too everything. She, who prided herself on her propriety and self-control, couldn’t risk spending time with someone who made her feel so…unsettled.

But then she’d been sent on assignment to Las Vegas to appraise the private art collection of a multimillionaire real-estate developer. When she’d run into Colin at the developer’s cocktail party, she’d felt compelled for business’ sake to socialize with him. She hadn’t planned on discovering, much to her chagrin, how charming he was and how much she was attracted to him.

He was like a breath of home in a new place—pleasantly familiar—and yet he stirred a response in her like no one ever had. In the process of idle cocktail party chitchat and banter, she discovered they’d both been standout swimmers in school, they were both partial to operatic performances at New York’s Lincoln Center and London’s Royal Opera House and they were both active in the same charities to help the unemployed—though Colin sat on the board, while she was more of a foot soldier volunteering her time.

Belinda had thought their similarities were almost disconcerting.

Toward the end of her stay in Vegas, she’d run into Colin again in the lobby of the Bellagio. She’d been momentarily uncertain what to do, but he’d made the decision for her. The ice had already been broken at the recent cocktail party, and what’s more, it turned out they were both staying at the Bellagio.

Frankly, she’d been in a partying mood—or at least one for a celebratory drink or two. She’d landed a deal with Colin’s real-estate developer friend for a big auction sale of artwork at Lansing’s. She knew she had Colin partially to thank. His smooth mediation of her conversations with the developer at the party had certainly been helpful.

Buoyed by a surge in magnanimity, she’d agreed to have a drink with Colin. Their drinks had naturally progressed to dinner and then time at the gaming tables, where she’d been impressed by Colin’s winnings.

At the end of the evening, it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to continue up in the elevator with him to his luxury suite.

She’d teasingly suggested that she couldn’t sleep with him unless they were married. She’d gambled on her pronouncement being the end of the matter. After all, she’d recently broken up with a boyfriend of more than a year with nothing to show for it.

Colin, however, had shocked her by upping the ante and daring her to go to the Las Vegas Marriage License Bureau with him. They’d turned around and headed back downstairs.

She’d been by turns amused and horrified by their escapade, especially when they’d started hunting for a chapel. She’d never been in an iconic Las Vegas wedding chapel. One had been too easy to find that night.

Later, of course, she’d blame her uncharacteristic actions on having had a drink or two and on the crazy Vegas environment. She’d point the finger at just having turned thirty and losing another boyfriend. She’d place fault on the increasing pressure from her family to marry well and soon, and on the fact that most of her wellborn classmates from Marlborough College were already engaged or married. She’d even blame her surge of goodwill toward Colin, who’d helped her land business at the cocktail party. Basically, she’d found everyone and everything at fault—most of all herself.

In the morning, her cell phone had rung, and she’d blearily identified the call as being from her mother. It had been as if someone had doused her with icy water while she’d still been half-asleep. She’d come back to reality with a shock, and had been truly horrified by what she’d done the night before. She’d insisted on a quick and quiet annulment without anyone being the wiser.

At first, Colin had been amused by her alarm. But soon, when it had become clear that her distress wasn’t temporary, he’d become closed and aloof, thinly masking his anger.

Belinda dropped her hand from her forehead, and in the next moment, she was startled by the ring of her cell phone.

She sighed. She supposed it was a good thing to be jostled out of unhappy memories.

Locating the phone on top of her dresser, she confirmed what the ring tone was telling her—it was Pia calling.

She put a Bluetooth device in her ear for hands-free listening so she could continue packing while she talked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Atlanta for a wedding?” Belinda asked without preamble once she had her earpiece in place.

“I am,” Pia responded, “but I have until the end of the week before the pace picks up for Saturday’s main event.”

She and Pia and their mutual friend, Tamara, had gotten to know each other through charitable work for the Junior League. All three of them had settled in New York in their twenties, soon after university. Though they’d chosen to live in different Manhattan neighborhoods, and were busy pursuing different careers—Tamara’s being in jewelry design while wedding planning had always been Pia’s dream—they had become fast friends.

Though Tamara was the daughter of a British viscount, Belinda had not met her as part of the aristocratic set in England because Tamara had grown up mostly in the United States, after her American-born mother had divorced her titled husband. Too bad—her free-thinking bohemian friend would have been a breath of fresh air in Belinda’s stilted, structured adolescence. Tamara had never met a trend that she didn’t want to buck—a trait that Belinda couldn’t help but admire. Pia was more like herself, though her friend came from a middle-class background in rural Pennsylvania.

“Don’t worry,” Belinda joked, guessing the reason for Pia’s call, “I’m still alive and kicking. I intend to be granted my freedom from the marquess if it’s the last thing that I do.”

“Oh, B-Belinda, I-I-I wish there was something I could do,” Pia said, her stutter making a rare appearance.

“Colin and I made this mess, and we’ll have to be the ones to clean it up.”

Belinda regretted the repercussions for Pia’s wedding-planning business from the nuptial disaster on Saturday. She’d thought only of helping her friend’s career when she’d asked Pia to be her wedding planner instead of her bridesmaid—despite knowing Pia was a dyed-in-the-wool romantic. Unfortunately, none of her plans for Saturday had worked out well.

Damn, Colin.

Since she’d had a three-way phone conversation with Pia and Tamara only yesterday, and Pia had just arrived in Atlanta for business today, Belinda sensed there might be more reason for her friend’s call than an opportunity to chat.

Because she was not one to skirt an issue, unless it involved her husband—not to be confused with her groom—she went straight to the point. “I know you wouldn’t be calling without a reason.”

“W-well,” Pia said delicately, “I wish this conversation could take place at a later time, but there is the issue of what announcement to send, if any, with regard to Saturday’s, er, interrupted nuptials. And then, of course, the wedding gifts—”

“Send them all back,” Belinda cut in.

She was an optimist but also a realist. She didn’t know for sure how long it would take to bring the marquess to heel at least long enough to grant her an annulment or divorce.

“Okay.” Pia sounded relieved and uncertain at the same time. “Are you sure, because—”

“I’m sure,” Belinda interrupted. “And as far as a statement, I don’t think one is necessary. A wedding announcement would no longer be appropriate obviously, and anything else would be unnecessary. Thanks in part to Mrs. Hollings, I believe everyone is in the know about Saturday’s events.”

“What about you and Tod?” Pia asked. “Will you be able to, ah, patch things up?”

Belinda thought back to the events of Saturday.

Outside the church, Tod had caught up with her, apparently having exited the confrontation with Colin soon after she had. They’d had a short and uncomfortable conversation. While he had tried to maintain a stiff upper lip, Tod had still seemed flabbergasted, annoyed and embarrassed.

She’d handed his engagement ring back to him. It had seemed like the only decent thing to do. She’d just discovered she was still married to another man, after all.

Then she had ducked into the white Rolls Royce at the curb, relieved to have attained privacy at last. She had been quivering with emotion ever since Colin’s voice had rung out at the church.

Belinda sighed. “Tod is perplexed and angry, and under the circumstances, I can hardly blame him.”

She winced when she thought about her glaring omission—not telling him about her elopement. Her only excuse was that she could hardly bear to think about it herself. It was too painful.

She hadn’t been able to live down her uncharacteristic behavior, and then it had come barging in in the form of a tall, imposing aristocrat who aroused passionate reactions in her.

Pia cleared her throat. “So matters between you and Tod are …?”

“On hold. Indefinitely,” Belinda confirmed. “He’s waiting for me to resolve this situation, and then we’ll decide where we’ll go from there.”

Pia said nothing for a moment. “So you don’t want to issue any public statement…for clarification?”

“Are you volunteering to be my publicist?” Belinda joked.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I issued a public statement or a press release for a bride,” Pia responded. “Media relations is part of the job for society wedding planners these days.”

Belinda sighed. “What could I say, besides confirming that I am in fact still married to Easterbridge?”

“I see your point,” Pia conceded, “and I don’t disagree. But I thought I’d give you the opportunity to respond to Mrs. Hollings if you want to.”

“No, thanks.”

The last thing Belinda wanted was for this scandal to play out in the media. After all, a public statement by her might just invite Easterbridge to issue his own clarifications.

She would try to deal with Colin privately and discreetly—even if she had to go beard the lion in his den. She wanted to avoid further scandal, if possible. She knew it was a slippery slope from retaining lawyers to sending threatening letters and ultimately going through an ugly and public divorce.

“What the devil has gotten into you, Belinda?” Uncle Hugh said, coming around his desk as Belinda stepped into the library of his town house in London’s Mayfair neighborhood.

The mark of disapproval was stamped all over her uncle’s face.

She was being called to account. She, Belinda Wentworth, had done what none of her ancestors had—betrayed her heritage by marrying a Granville.

Belinda knew when she’d gone to London on business that she’d be compelled to pay a visit at the Mayfair town house. She had been able to escape in-depth conversations—and explanations—with her relatives directly after the wedding by departing the church forthwith and having Pia run interference for her at the show-must-go-on reception afterward. Her family had also been preoccupied with trying to save face with the assembled guests—to the extent such a thing was possible.

She glanced above the mantel at the Gainsborough painting of Sir Jonas Wentworth. The poor man was probably turning in his grave.

The London house had been in the Wentworth clan for generations. Like many other highborn families, the Wentworths had fought tooth and nail to hang on to a fashionable Mayfair address that carried a certain cache, if no longer necessarily signifying generations of quality breeding due to the growing number of new money.

Though the Wentworths were not titled, they descended from a younger branch of the Dukes of Pelham and had intermarried with many other aristocratic families over the years—save, of course, for the despised Granvilles. Thus, they considered themselves as blue-blooded as anybody.

“This is quite a tangle that you’ve created,” her uncle went on as a servant rolled in a cart bearing the preparations for afternoon tea.

Belinda worried her bottom lip. “I know.”

“It must be resolved forthwith.”

“Of course.”

As the servant left the room, Uncle Hugh gestured for Belinda to sit down.

“Well, what are you going to do to fix this mess?” he asked as they both sat, she on the sofa and he in a nearby armchair.

By force of habit, Belinda leaned forward to fix tea. It gave her something to do—and the illusion of being in control while not meeting Uncle Hugh’s gaze.

“I intend to obtain an annulment or divorce, of course,” she said evenly.

Despite her self-assured attitude, there was nothing of course about it.

She surveyed the tea tray. A proper English tea was more than loose tea and hot water. There were the customary finger sandwiches, buttery biscuits and warm scones.

Really, she could drown herself in scones right now. Crumbly blueberry ones…rich raisin ones…decadent chocolate-chip ones—

No, not decadent. Definitely not decadent. It came too close to mimicking the behavior that had gotten her into her current fix with Colin.

She was decidedly not into decadent behavior, she told herself firmly.

Nevertheless, an image flashed into her mind of lounging on a king-size bed with Colin Granville, sharing champagne and strawberries high above the flashing lights of Las Vegas.

Her face heated.

“… a youthful indiscretion?”

She fumbled in the process of pouring hot water into a cup.

She jerked her head up. “What?”

Her uncle raised his eyebrows. “I was merely inquiring whether this unfortunate situation came about due to a youthful indiscretion?”

She knew she must look guilty. “Can I claim so even though I was thirty at the time?”

Uncle Hugh regarded her with a thoughtful but forbearing expression. “I’m not so old that I don’t remember how much partying and club-hopping can go on in one’s twenties or beyond.”

“Yes,” Belinda said, more than ready to accept the proffered excuse. “That must be it.”

Her uncle accepted a teacup and saucer from her.

“And, yet, I’m surprised at you, Belinda,” he went on as he took a sip of his tea. “You were never one for rebellion. You were sent to a proper boarding school and then to Oxford. No one expected this scenario.”

She should have guessed that she would not be let off the hook so easily.

Belinda stifled a grimace. Marlborough College’s most famous graduate these days was the former Kate Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, who would mostly likely be queen one day. She, by startling contrast, had failed miserably on the matrimonial front. She now had the wreckage of not one but two wedding ceremonies behind her.

She hated to disappoint Uncle Hugh. He had been a father figure to her since her own father’s death after a yearlong battle with cancer when she’d been thirteen. As her father’s older brother, and the head of the Wentworth family, her uncle had fallen naturally into the paternal role. A longtime widower, Uncle Hugh had been unable to have children with his wife and had remained single and childless since then.

On her part, Belinda had tried to be a good surrogate daughter. She’d grown up on Uncle Hugh’s estates—learning to swim and ride a bicycle during her summers there. She’d gotten good grades, she hadn’t acted out as a teenager and she’d kept her name out of the gossip columns—until now.

Uncle Hugh sighed and shook his grayed head. “Nearly three centuries of feuding and now this. Do you know your ancestor Emma was seduced by a Granville scoundrel? Fortunately, the family was able to hush up matters and arrange a respectable marriage for the poor girl to the younger son of a baronet.” His eyebrows knitted. “On the other hand, our nineteenth-century land dispute with the Granvilles dragged on for years. Fortunately, the courts were finally able to vindicate us on the matter of the proper property line between our estate and the Granvilles’.”

Belinda had heard both stories many times before. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—about how her situation with Colin was different.

“Ah! I see I’ve finally run you to ground.”

Belinda turned in time to watch her mother sail into the room. She abruptly clamped her mouth shut to prevent herself from groaning out loud. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Her mother handed her purse and chiffon scarf to a servant who hastened in from the doorway before turning for a discreet retreat. As usual, she looked impeccably turned out—as if she’d just come from lunch at Annabelle’s or one of her other customary jaunts. Her hair was coiffed, her dress was timelessly chic and probably St. John and her jewels were heirlooms.

Belinda thought that the contrast between her and her mother could hardly be more pronounced. She was casually dressed in chain-store chinos and a fluttery short-sleeved blouse that were paired with a couple of Tamara’s affordable jewelry pieces.

Even aside from the accoutrements, however, Belinda knew she did not physically resemble her mother. Her mother was a fragile blonde, while she herself was a statuesque brunette. She took after the Wentworth side of the family in that regard.

“Mother,” Belinda tried, “we spoke right after the wedding.”

Her mother glanced at her and widened her eyes. “Yes, darling, but you gave me only the vaguest and most rudimentary of answers.”

Belinda flushed. “I told you what I knew.”

Her mother waved a hand airily. “Yes, yes, I know. The marquess’ appearance was unexpected, his claims outlandish. Still, it all begs the question as to how precisely you’ve been married two odd years with no one being the wiser.”

“I told you the marquess claims that an annulment was never finalized. I am in the process of confirming that claim and rectifying matters.”

She had not hired a divorce lawyer yet, but she had phoned an attorney in Las Vegas, Nevada, and requested that Colin’s claim be verified—namely, she and Colin were still married.

Her mother glanced at Uncle Hugh and then back at her. “This scandal is the talk of London and New York. How do you plan to rectify that matter?”

Belinda bit her lip. Obviously, her mother, having met with resistance to her first line of inquiry, had moved on to another.

It was ironic, really, that she was being subjected to questioning by her mother. She had turned a deaf ear to her mother’s personal affairs over the years, though they had been the subject of gossip and cocktail-party innuendo. She hadn’t wanted to know more about affaires de coeur, as her mother was fond of referring to them.

Her mother looked fretful. “How will we ever resolve this with the Dillinghams? It’s disastrous.”

“Now, now, Clarissa,” her uncle said, leaning forward to set down his teacup. “Histrionics will not do a bit of good here.”

Belinda silently seconded the sentiment and then heaved an inward sigh. She and her mother had never had an easy relationship. They were too different in personality and character. As an adult, she’d been pained when her mother’s behavior had been shallow, selfish or self-centered, and often all three.

As if on cue, her mother slid onto a nearby chair, managing somehow to be graceful about it while still giving the impression that her legs would no longer support her during this ordeal. “Belinda, Belinda, how could you be so reckless, so irresponsible?”

Belinda felt rising annoyance even as she acknowledged she’d been asking herself the same question again and again. She had acted uncharacteristically.

“You were expected to marry well,” her mother went on. “The family was counting on it. Why, most of your classmates have already secured advantageous matches.”

Belinda wanted to respond that she had married well. Most people would say that a rich and titled husband qualified as good enough. And yet, Colin was a detested Granville and thus one who was not to be trusted under any circumstances.

“We spent a long time cultivating the Dillinghams,” her mother continued. “They were prepared to renovate Downlands so you and Tod might entertain there in style once you were married.”

Belinda didn’t need to be reminded of the plan, contingent on her marriage to Tod, to update the Wentworths’ main ancestral estate in Berkshire. She knew the family finances were, if not precarious, less than robust.

Truth 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 as if the marriage ceremony had never occurred.”

Belinda pressed her lips together.

Colin raised an eyebrow. “I know. It’s rather inconvenient that your marriage to Dillingham would have been the one to have been declared legally nonexistent.”

“You ruined my wedding,” she accused. “You chose the precise wrong moment to make your big announcement. Why crash the ceremony?”

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me for preventing a crime from being committed?”

She ignored his riposte. “And to top it off, you ruined my marriage by not making sure the annulment was properly finalized.”

“Your marriage to whom? The one to Tod that never existed? Or ours? Most people would say that not finalizing an annulment is the way to avoid ruining a marriage.”

She wasn’t amused by his recalcitrance. She’d come here to get him to agree to a quiet dissolution of their union.

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