Castled: Duke Society Series

by Robinson, Gina

  Castled

  Duke Society Series

  Gina Robinson

  Copyright © 2019 by Gina Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Gina Robinson

  http://www.ginarobinson.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Jeff Robinson

  Castled/Gina Robinson. — 1st ed.

  Contents

  I. The Duchess

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  II. Hardison Castle

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  CASTLED

  Grace

  As the car pulls through the gatehouse and our Gothic castle looms into view, I gasp. What have I gotten myself into by marrying Noah, the new Duke of Hardison?

  I married my best friend on the spur of the moment. Which made me his duchess.

  But here’s the really crazy part...now someone’s trying to kill me.

  CASTLED is a sexy, modern, romantic marriage of convenience story that blends the best of noble, billionaire, modern Gothic, and contemporary romance. Get ready to fall hard for Noah, the new Duke of Hardison.

  Sign up for new release alerts (via Gina’s email newsletter or Bookbub or on ginarobinson.com ) so you don’t miss Gina’s next romance.

  Part I

  The Duchess

  Chapter 1

  Grace Lovekamp

  Saturday

  I sat on my living room floor surrounded by piles of wrapped presents. Gorgeously wrapped gifts in white and silver and shades of pale pinks. It seemed a shame to rip off the expensive wrapping that happy friends and family had paid so much for. Or maybe wrapped carefully and lovingly themselves. The gift from my grandma was evident from the fancy bow she'd made with her Bow It All and yards of expensive ribbon.

  Painful or not, I had to unwrap them sometime. One more horrendous task to wade through in a fog, numb, while I was still on vacation. And what better day to do it than my birthday? My auspicious thirtieth birthday. I snorted.

  Well, hey, snorting was at least an expression of emotion, and not nearly as dark and depressing as my thoughts. Thirty was the new twenty, anyway. Right? And the best part of a birthday, especially one you wanted to be alone on, was opening presents.

  I pulled one into my lap and studied it, trying to be dispassionate and not dissolve into a puddle of tears.

  Why hadn't I opened these as they arrived? It would have been so much easier. So much less work. Because of some romantic notion. Some stupid romantic notion that we should open them together. That was why. And here I was opening them by myself anyway. Tragic. Or maybe ironic.

  The pricey buttercream-covered birthday cake Mom had sent me this morning was at my side, along with a pen and creamy, expensive custom-ordered stationery. My phone didn't stop buzzing with incoming texts—happy birthday gifs and wishes filled with emoji. Tender. Tentative. Delicate. I ignored them along with the few who were brave enough to call and the few brave enough still to leave me a voicemail.

  Hugs, Grace. Happy birthday. We love you. Take your time. When you're up to it, we'll celebrate.

  Miss you. Thinking about you. Take all the time you need.

  Happy birthday, baby girl. You'll always be our little girl and the most beautiful person on the planet, inside and out. Love you!

  Gray, pick up the damn phone. There's no way I'm letting you spend your thirtieth birthday alone. I'm heading over now. You'd better let me in when I get there.

  I rolled my eyes. Nice try, Noah. People meant well. Everyone meant well. Even Noah.

  I stuck my fork into the cake, ignoring the big thirtieth birthday candle, not bothering with a plate. Slices were for wimps. Brides with wedding dresses to fit into. Honeymoons to go on. Lingerie to look sleek and stunning in.

  The cake was my favorite, mine alone—tuxedo. Alternating layers of white and chocolate with chocolate buttercream frosting beneath the fondant and raspberry filling. I had no one else's tastes to cater to. I took a forkful of cake and ate it, barely tasting the delicate crumb I usually savored. Even my taste buds were numb with shock. The cake was sweet and chocolate. That was all I cared about at the moment.

  I pulled the card from the gift in my lap—this was the worst part. The two names on the envelope or the Mr. & Mrs. I opened it, careful not to read the sentiment or look at the artwork. A gift receipt tumbled out. I set it aside. All I needed was the name of the sender and the store registry. The gift was from one of my aunts and uncles. I recorded their names dully into my log.

  Christopher, I hate you. I really hate you.

  I blinked back tears, surprised I still had any. The rest of me felt numb to everything. I pulled the ribbon off and opened the package. Nice. An instant pot. Top of the line. Over a dozen programmable settings. I'd wanted one for a long time. It was tempting to keep it. Very tempting. Small consolation for all I'd been through these past two weeks. With it, I could make myself dinners and cheesecakes for one in record time. I taped the receipt to the box and shoved it into the pile to be returned to store registry number one. Thankfully we'd only registered at three places. Sheets, towels, dishes, toasters, knives—everything for a life together—in three toppling piles. If only life were so tidy.

  Another bite of cake. I grabbed a thank-you card and wrote out a note to my aunt and uncle. This was even worse than sending out the Delete the Date cards and making the phone calls canceling the wedding. Fortunately, my army of bridesmaids had taken care of most of the calls.

  I grabbed another present. I had to give everything back—all the engagement gifts, all the shower gifts, all the wedding gifts. The logistics were staggering. There was also a pile of presents yet to be opened from friends and family who'd insisted I keep them. I'd open them last. Yeah. Yay. Happy defunct wedding, happy birthday, me.

  The gifts from the registry were easy. I'd already arranged with the stores to have them credited back to their purchasers. But the customized presents? The monogrammed items? The one-offs and handmade gifts? The beautiful afghan crocheted by one of my great-aunts? The one-of-a-kinds from who-knows-where? Once those were all opened, what did I do with them? Throw a take-back-your-gifts-thanks-for-the-thought party? I'd already cancelled the reception venue and caterers.

  I stuffed the thank-you note for my aunt and uncle into an envelope and licked it just as someone banged on my condo door. I jumped, startled, and froze. My heart pounded. Silence for a moment, then another forceful knock.

  I steeled myself and ignored it. It was either Noah making good on his promise to come over or Christopher. If it was Christopher, hell could freeze over before I opened my door to him. I'd even changed the locks so he couldn't get in. I didn't trust that he'd given me back all his keys. I didn't need another confrontation. I didn't want to see his handsome mask of a stranger face. Or more tears—his. Oh, he was good with a tear now. After he'd lied to me ab
out who he was and broken my heart.

  I was strikingly hardhearted now. Shattered illusions will do that. I had no sympathy left for him and very little compassion. My love for him had completely, startlingly, died. Yes, my undying, unquenchable love had dried up.

  I hated him as much for killing my naïve belief in true love and trust as I despised him for ruining my life. I'd been in love with a man who didn't exist. A fairytale a liar had created. I mourned my broken dreams and the fantasy of a happily married ever after with a man I only thought I knew.

  If it weren't Christopher rapping and not so gently tapping at my door, I could hope it was another delivery person leaving me yet another gift to unwrap and return. Lesser of evils. If I'd been quicker on my feet, I might have been able to refuse delivery and save some recycling. If it were Noah—

  "Gray!" More pounding, door-shuddering pounding. Only one person called me Gray. "Gray. I know you're in there. Let me in or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your door down."

  Noah. I sagged with relief. A small smile tried to play at the corners of my mouth. The Big Bad Wolf reference was a private joke between us.

  "Go away. I'm busy opening cancelled wedding presents. I want to be alone with my lost treasures."

  "No way, Gray. No fucking way." Noah pounded a forceful beat on my door. The door quaked and creaked.

  He was doing a bang-up job of huffing and puffing. Cheap apartment construction.

  "Damn it, Noah. I don't have time to deal with broken doors on top of everything else." I got to my feet and threw the door open, glaring. "Stop it before one of my neighbors mistakes you for Christopher and calls the cops on you."

  Noah leaned casually against the doorframe, appearing unexpectedly both familiar and foreign to me. He was a harsher, more adult version of the guy I'd known since birth. His face was suddenly more angular and chiseled. His jaw squarer. The small cleft in his chin more visible. His distinctive silvery blue eyes looked bluer in this light and were dark and intense. His body was lean and muscled in the casual T-shirt, jeans, and jacket he wore. It looked as if he'd been working out twenty-four/seven. What had that trainer of his done to him?

  Despite his casual pose, everything about him was taut and tightly coiled. A bottle of wine and two long-stemmed glasses dangled from his long-fingered hand. A messenger bag was slung over his shoulder. Something else about Noah had changed, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Turning thirty two weeks before me couldn't have changed him that much.

  His dark, wavy hair was carelessly windblown. He had a wild, reckless look on his face. As his gaze ran over me, his expression changed from searching to anger to an unreadable mask. Changes in him aside, I sagged with relief. Noah was the only person in the world I'd let in right now.

  He turned his cheek to me and leaned close. He smelled deliciously like Noah—clean, fresh, familiar, comforting, with a hint of delicious cologne overtones. "Take a good look. Do I really look that much like your lying ex?"

  "No, of course not." I glanced around the empty hallway for stray neighbors. "But my neighbors won't notice. They'll see some crazy guy pounding on my door and call either the cops or the manager. Hope for the cops. The manager is a real hardass. No one messes with him."

  "Why am I not flattered that they wouldn't recognize me as a friend of yours?" he teased, but there was something innately serious in everything about him.

  That was a condemnation of me. I'd been so consumed with Christopher that I hadn't seen much of Noah since I'd moved in a year ago.

  "You should get more observant neighbors." Noah grabbed me by one shoulder. "I'm here to help, Gray. I would have come sooner, but I know the drill—you like your solitude for a while after a heartbreak. You've had enough time to lick your wounds. It's time to come out and rejoin the world. You're a mature woman of thirty now."

  "Don't remind me."

  His expression became grave. "Is Christopher still harassing you?"

  "He hasn't dropped by for two whole days." I pulled my door open wider and pointed to a bag of trash I needed to take out to the dumpster in the parking garage. Stems from a dozen long-stemmed red roses stuck out of the top. "He's resorted to plan B—sending flowers he can't afford. You can see what I think of them. I already have more trash than I can handle."

  Noah stepped in around me and studied the disheveled room as I closed the door. His brow furrowed. "You're eating cake without me?"

  Of all the things to comment on. It was so typically Noah.

  I raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the wine he carried. "No present? Just wine? I hope those glasses don't say thirty and single?"

  He broke into a full-blown smile. "The gift of my comforting presence isn't enough?"

  He set the wine and messenger bag down, and pulled me into a hug as he whispered in my ear in a low, sensuous voice, "Come on, Gray. You know me better than that. I've brought the ultimate present." His breath was warm as he kissed my hair. "I'm here to collect on our promise. The wine is to toast us and seal the deal."

  He took a step back and fell to one knee, taking my hand in his. "Grace Lovekamp, we're both thirty and single. Still best friends. Will you marry me and become my duchess?"

  Chapter 2

  Words froze on my lips. I felt myself slowly start to smile. Some of the dense fog of depression began to lift with my spirits. A laugh bubbled up from deep in my soul.

  "Get up, Noah." I shook my head. It was so like him to know exactly how to cheer me up. Proposing! It was ridiculous. But Noah's sense of humor had always been part of his charm. "I appreciate the thought behind the gesture, but you look ridiculous down on one knee." I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to hold you to that pact I made you agree to in college. Marry if we're both still single at thirty." I scoffed.

  "Are you refusing my hand, then?" His words were light, but his expression was masked.

  Noah was the king of the masked expression. As much as I'd always loved him deeply as my true friend, he had been tight with his emotions, playing them close to his chest, since the time I first re-met him back in college after years apart. Maybe it was just a machismo thing—don't show emotion. But it added to the enigmatic air about him that he so prized.

  I hadn't expected him to keep the joke going so long. Why wasn't he smiling and joking? This was a prize gag. I really had to hand it to him. An excellent birthday surprise. Now all he needed to do was pull out one of those cheap rings with the gigantic plastic "diamond" in pink or purple, or maybe even a Ring Pop, and it would be perfectly epic Noah. The best thirtieth birthday gesture ever.

  "I'm a little speechless at the moment," I said. "Stunned by this sudden show of ardor out of the blue. Touched by the lengths you'll go to cheer me up." My laugh reached the surface and tumbled out. It felt good to laugh again. How long had it been?

  Noah didn't move or speak, just stayed down on bended knee.

  "Duchess?" I asked, teasing and flirty in the friendly way Noah and I were with each other. "You do know that a countess is an earl's wife, not a duchess? And I thought you're only the spare. You only get the title if both your dad and your older brother die—"

  I stopped myself too late. My laughter died on my lips.

  Noah remained on his knee. He looked down, leaving me mortified at my gaffe as I stared at the top of his head and his lush head of wavy hair.

  "Noah?" I gently played with a lock of his hair. I took his chin in my hand and tipped his face up. "Your dad died? And your older brother? I'm sorry. When? Why didn't you tell me?"

  He raised his brow.

  "Oh." I dropped his chin.

  He caught my hand and squeezed it. "I found out just before you called with the news that you'd called off your wedding."

  "Oh." It seemed like the only word I was capable of uttering at the moment. "I'm so sorry. About everything, including calling to cry on your shoulder on such a crappy day for you." I swallowed hard, feeling like the worst kind of friend. I'd been so self-absorbed. "How did it hap
pen?"

  He stood and pulled me close. "Don't be sorry about them." He could be sardonic when he wanted. "They were killed in a freak accident on their wheat farm a few days before I found out. I don't know the details. I don't want to. I don't care. You know my father, the wheat king of Calgary, British earl of nothing. And my older brother, his stooge and heir."

  Noah shrugged. "It was probably the way they'd both want to go—buried in a silo of wheat or overturning in a combine. Or something. A farm accident stimulates the imagination, doesn't it?" He laughed bitterly. "Though how the hell would I know what they'd want? I only saw the man a handful of times and my half brother only once."

  "I'm so sorry," I repeated. My mouth was dry. I really hadn't meant to step in it like this. Why hadn't Noah told me? Why hadn't I been the first person he rushed to? Or maybe I was?

  Noah took my hand and played with it in his. Noah's hands were always warm and steady, comforting even while he was hurting.

  "So you're the earl?"

  He glanced at me. "I'm the earl."

  "And that's it? Your dad didn't relent and leave you a bushel of wheat or a pitchfork or something?"

  "Oh, there's more. I'll get to that in a minute." Noah grinned softly. "But to your point—my deadbeat dad left me nothing, not even a bag of fertilizer, and we all know that's just shit."

  Now he was sounding more like Noah, making jokes.

  "He made good on his promise?" I said. "That sucks."

  Noah remained stoic. "His wheat fields were his castle. He sold his ancient family estate and the earldom to buy them. Everything goes to my brother's two girls and my sister and her boys."