Gray's mom, Linda, on the other hand, had immediately opposed our marriage. Linda didn't object to me, so she claimed. She objected to the timing. It was too soon. Gray was too vulnerable. She needed time to come to terms with Christopher's betrayal and learn to trust herself and others again. Gray needed time to heal and make an informed decision after she'd had time to process.
Linda begged us to wait a year. Her pleas fell on deaf ears. I didn't have a year. I didn't want a year. I couldn't wait a year. And I wasn't about to reveal the terms of my inheritance.
Bruce called his friend the judge immediately. Gray and I had an appointment for Judge Rawlston to marry us at the courthouse at four thirty on Friday.
Four thirty on Friday. Then the clock started ticking again. How long did I have to get Gray to fall in love with me?
I grabbed my phone and called Thorne to tell him the good news.
Chapter 5
Grace
The few people I told out of necessity had objections to my engagement to Noah. Funny that no one had objected to Christopher.
Noah was honest and genuine. And Christopher was a pathological liar and egomaniac. Christopher had pretended to be a junior partner at a prestigious financial firm in the city. He told me he'd graduated from the University of Washington magna cum laude. That he made nearly half a million a year. That his father had abandoned his mom when he was young. That his mom had died just before we met. That he had no siblings. He told me all kinds of things that turned out not to be true. It was only by a stroke of what I now realized was good fortune that I'd found out the truth. I'd caught him in one tiny lie. That discovery of that tiny lie unraveled his entire web.
In reality, Christopher had two brothers. His mom and dad were still married. And his mom was very much alive. He'd gone to one year of community college and never come close to graduating. But he was smart. He'd protested that he was smart and the circumstances of him not graduating weren't his fault.
So, no, he wasn't some big-time finance guy. He was a liar, and an egomaniac, and a con man, pure and simple. I wasn't even sure whether he loved me or loved the idea of being married to someone like me. I fit the profile of a wife the man he pretended to be would have. I gave him credibility. It didn't matter. I didn't care. Or was trying not to. But I felt foolish. Taken advantage of. Robbed of my sense of trust. Why had it taken me so long to discover the truth?
So I ignored the objections of other people who thought I shouldn't marry Noah now. What did people really know, anyway? How good a judge of character were they? They'd failed the test right along with me. Been charmed by a liar. Seen what they wanted to see. Heard what they wanted to hear. Didn't bother to look behind Christopher's handsome and polished façade.
Mom saw Noah as an opportunist swooping in while I was vulnerable. She was worried he was using me. People couldn't see that he was offering me a new life. I couldn't tell them about our agreement and the circumstances of our marriage. So screw them. This was my life.
Now I had six days to plan a wedding, buy a wedding band, and get back in wedding-dress shape. I was going to look stunning and confident when I married Noah. I was going to look like the duchess I was about to become.
Friday, 4:30 p.m.
The Courthouse
We waited in the hallway outside the courtroom for court to end for the day with three other couples and their wedding entourages. Me, in my wedding dress that belonged in another venue to another life I thought I'd wanted and almost been trapped in. I was quiet. Calm. Reflective. Determined. And numb, but determined. Walking through this like I was in a dream.
Mom stood next to me, nervously fluttering and fussing with her wrist corsage. We didn't speak. Her disapproval and worry permeated the atmosphere all on their own. Her choice of a light gray wool pantsuit, as if she was just coming out of mourning or deciding whether to go into it, spoke volumes about her feelings about this wedding. She'd bought a beautiful, flattering magenta dress for my wedding to Christopher. I'd told her I was still wearing my dress, but she refused to wear hers. And I knew she hadn't returned it.
Noah held my hand, stylish in a new suit, looking commanding and handsome. Nothing like a nervous groom. Nothing like I always thought he'd be on his wedding day. Which I hadn't imagined would be to me. I pictured him grinning, ear to ear, like the college Noah I knew. Full of humor. Full of a sense of awe and innocence. His blue eyes soft with love and that naïve joy that he'd somehow caught the most perfect woman in the world.
I said it before, and I'd say it again—something about Noah had changed in these last few years while I'd been distracted with Christopher. He was sterner, sharper, more cynical and pragmatic. The light, humorous side of him tempered by driving ambition. The funny, charming guy I knew replaced with a man who kept his emotions at bay. He stood tall and solemn. He masked his emotions well. So maybe this wasn't his idea of a perfect wedding either.
His parents—Carol and Bruce—stood on the other side of him, making polite conversation with Mr. Thorne, who looked impeccably British and upper crust.
Mr. Thorne was another enigma. Unfailingly polite and courteous. Dignified. Intelligent. He'd answered all my questions openly in the meetings I'd had with him. I still couldn't decide whose side he was on. It definitely wasn't mine, not that he acted in any way ill toward me. He'd take Noah's side in any dispute between us, I was certain of that. But my impression was that he was Hardly's man through and through. The late duke must have been paying him a prodigious sum to keep him so loyal.
The corridor outside the courtroom was busy, filled with lawyers, jurors, security guards, and police officers. Any romantic notions I might have had—to be truthful, before Noah proposed, I'd never entertained the idea of the courthouse as my wedding venue—evaporated. The corridor smelled of sweat and nerves and dusty justice. The tones were hushed, punctuated by outbursts of joy, relief, fear, or mental illness. This was crime and punishment, not love and romance. Footsteps echoed off the commercial floors.
The reaction to all of us who were about to be married from those walking by ranged from indifference to outright hostility. The doors to the courtroom opened. Audience and defendants from the previous hearing poured out.
A fierce middle-aged woman stormed out, speaking heatedly with her lawyer. When she caught sight of me in my dress, she sneered and paused, her gaze running over Noah, part raw lust and appreciation, part scorn. She met my eye. "That's a nice piece of man candy." She laughed. "Fuck him, but don't marry him. Run now, honey. While you still can. Before he fucks you over."
Before I could reply, she moved on, leaving me gaping.
Noah squeezed my hand. "Divorce court. Ignore her. We won't end up bitter like her."
When the courtroom cleared, the bailiff showed us in. I had just a moment to take stock of my wedding venue. As nervous as I was, I was sure the details would blur later. I tried to memorize it—the checkerboard floor made of squares of light and dark wood, the American and State of Washington flags flanking the judge's bench. The judge in his black robes. The whiteboard off to one side and the boxes of computer paper stacked against one wall. The jurors' box. The rows of benches that looked almost like pews.
Judge Rawlston rose and came out to greet us. He was a tall man, thin, with sharp eyes that looked like they had seen it all. He hugged Carol, Bruce, and Noah and introduced himself to me, Mom, and Mr. Thorne.
I was blindsided by a sudden case of nerves. I was so focused on trying to remain calm that everything else blurred into the background. I had no father to give me away, and Mom wasn't stepping up to the task, so the judge positioned us in front of his bench. Mr. Thorne stood up for Noah. Mom stood up for me, a hostile witness.
The judge gave us a few instructions—we hadn't had a rehearsal—and opened an officiant's book of wedding ceremonies. "We are gathered here today to celebrate one of life's greatest moments, to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes to the union of Noah
and Grace in marriage."
Beauty of love. I was marrying my best friend. Marrying my best friend. It felt surreal, like one of those dreams you wake up from shocked that you put the face of a dear friend in the role of a lover.
"Noah and Grace, I would ask that you both remember to treat yourself and each other with respect, and remind yourself often of what brought you together today…"
A dead duke and a failed engagement. Not the best thing to remember. I glanced at Noah to see if he was thinking the same thing.
He gave me the smallest smirk. Yeah, we were on the same wavelength here. Someone should have warned the judge off that particular line.
"Give the highest priority to the tenderness, gentleness, and kindness that your marriage deserves." The judge's voice was authoritative and sonorous.
I focused on it, making it my lifeline. I would do as the judge commanded. Or what? He'd throw me in jail. This wasn't a prison sentence. I was stepping into a wondrous adventure.
Without any religious message, without music, or a unity ceremony, we got straight to our vows.
"I, Noah, take thee, Grace, to be my wife—to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, in joy and sorrow, and I promise my love to you." Noah spoke calmly, as if promising his love was easy. "With this ring, I take you as my wife, for as long as we both shall live."
There was a fleeting moment as Noah slipped the ring on my trembling finger when he looked at me as the old Noah had—with open amusement and joy. And then it was gone and the mask went up.
My heart squeezed. I swallowed hard against my breathlessness. I turned and handed my bouquet to Mom, taking Noah's ring from her. To my surprise, and disappointment, her eyes were dry, all those tender, happy tears at my engagement to Christopher noticeably absent now. Her face was stony and set. She looked like she wanted to run from the courthouse and drag me with her like a naughty child.
I turned back to Noah and spoke my vows with a trembling voice, ragged with emotion. There was another brief moment when he squeezed my hand as I spoke my vows, reassuring me as a small smile played at the corners of his lips.
I slipped Noah's ring on his finger with shaking hands. Friends forever. I'd managed to get it inscribed. And maybe that was what we should have promised rather than professing our love for each other.
"I now declare you to be husband and wife." Judge Rawlston winked at Noah. "You may kiss your bride."
There was a fleeting moment when I felt almost virginal—I hadn't kissed Noah on the lips since moments after we met in college. Never given him more than a kiss on the cheek or an enthusiastic hug since. Not when he proposed. Not in this week since. Not before. Not when we were falling down drunk together in college or crying in our beers over lost loves. Not even during those brief, fleeting dances in time when I'd been tempted to do more. And as I remembered—it was Noah who'd held me aloof even then.
The courtroom felt suddenly stifling. The silence was conspicuous and tense. This was the moment when we sold this marriage as something genuine.
Noah took my face in his hand and caressed my cheek with his thumb, his eyes dark with emotion. My smile wobbled. I lifted my face to his, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Here we go, I thought. Here we go. I was relying on him to sell it. Following his lead like I so often did.
When his lips met mine, they were warm and probing. He kissed with a generous and sensuous pressure. He kissed with skill, as if he'd kissed me a thousand times and each one was a treasure. As if he knew exactly what I liked and how I liked it. Intoxicating. He was my best friend. He knew everything about me. But how could he know this?
A quaver of pleasure at his touch ran through me like a song. I'd expected a quick kiss, just the bridge or refrain with no verse, but this was the full melody.
As he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close, the vague mist of déjà vu surrounded me. I remembered a kiss from an erotic dream I'd had about him once. He ran his tongue around my lips until I went weak at the knees. My breath caught. How could he have possibly known how much that turned me on? I opened my mouth to him and pressed up against him. His tongue darted into my mouth, boldly and possessively.
He tasted exactly as I somehow knew he would—fresh and wild. Everything about his kiss made me want more. Maybe it was only the echoes of that long-forgotten dream. Maybe it was the memory of the sweetness of that one solo kiss in college. Maybe it was more. I momentarily forgot we were in a courthouse, standing in front of our parents.
When Noah released me and I opened my eyes, I felt dazed. What had just happened?
Mr. Thorne smiled to himself.
The judge addressed the court. "It is my privilege to present to you the Duke and Duchess of Hardison."
Mr. Thorne clapped politely. Carol dabbed her eyes. Bruce was our unofficial wedding photographer. He snapped a few pictures and shook Noah's hand while his camera banged against his shoulder. Mom stood stoically next to me.
"One quick thing to take care of—sign the license, and we're done here." The judge pulled a pen out from deep in his robes.
We signed the license. The judge signed and recorded something. He handed the license to us. "The benefit of being married by me at the courthouse—this license is the real deal. No more paperwork to file. You're legally married. Congratulations."
Noah handed the license to Mr. Thorne for safekeeping and took my hand. I looked at him, still hoping to see that ear-to-ear grin. But all I saw was a look of triumph.
Chapter 6
Grace
Noah led me out of the courtroom, down the hall to a unisex bathroom. Mr. Thorne followed us with a large bag over his shoulder and my change of clothes slung over his arm. Noah opened the bathroom door, took the hangers with my clothes from Mr. Thorne, and hung them inside the bathroom. Mr. Thorne pulled my white dress bag from his bag and handed it, and a suit bag, to Noah. Changing in the bathroom before heading to our wedding dinner had been the plan all along.
"I didn't think you were a valet, Mr. Thorne," I said to him.
"I'm anything that's needed at the moment, duchess."
Duchess. Such a strange concept to my American ears.
Noah gently led me into the bathroom while Mr. Thorne stood guard. Inside, he positioned himself with his back to the toilet and me in front of him by the door. I turned my back to him and lifted my hair so he could unfasten the back of my dress. One of Noah's few requests was that I wear my hair down.
"I guess it's traditional for the bride and groom to change together after the ceremony. I was hoping for something a little more elegant." I glanced around, catching our reflection in the mirror over the sink off to our side. "And a little less cramped. Maybe without a toilet at the center of things." I wrinkled my nose.
"We've been in tight spots before." His breath was warm on my neck.
I looked straight ahead to hide my expression from him. I felt a cool breeze from the overhead air vent as the back of my dress fell open, exposing my back and my bridal corset and lingerie. They'd been meant to tempt Christopher, but now I wore them to show Noah I was into this marriage fully.
I stepped out of the dress while Noah held it to save it from falling on the dirty bathroom floor. I could only imagine the number of reprobates who'd used this bathroom. I didn't want an inch of my hem touching this floor.
We jostled in the small space as Noah reached for the dress hanger. He had to catch the skirt over his arm and maneuver it over the toilet and past the sink while I slid behind him. It was a delicate dance.
"Nice move. Dropping my dress in the toilet would be a bad beginning," I quipped just as he bumped into me. I was caught off guard and fell backward.
Noah swung around, dress over his arm, and caught me around the waist before I fell ass first into the toilet. There was a moment where our gazes locked and my breath caught. "Or my duchess."
His eyes were dark and searching. Penetrating. It was a view of Noah I hadn't had before. Hi
s arm was still around me in my thong panties, garter, heels, and corset, pressing me close against him. In my four-inch wedding heels, he was only a few inches taller than I was. I thought he might lean in and kiss me. I thought I might kiss him. But neither of us made the move. I couldn't decide if it was stubbornness, fear, or uncertainty that drove him or me. We were in uncharted territory.
"Nice catch. I'm forever grateful and in your debt, your grace. Can you imagine me at dinner with my backside drenched in toilet water? And not the perfume kind!"
He raised an eyebrow, suddenly looking like my Noah. "Is this my cue to say that you'd look beautiful dowsed in any kind of water?"
I laughed softly. "Mom would take it as an omen that our marriage is doomed."
He gently released me, making sure I was steady on my feet before fully letting go. "And you'd need a shower."
Neither of us broke our gaze.
"And we'd be late for dinner."
The implication was clear. Why was that thought so enticing?
Finally, he turned and wrangled the dress into the bag. I watched him, trying not to laugh at his gallant effort to corral all those layers of tulle and fluff, taking great care with the dress. I was unable to help him. There simply wasn't enough room to maneuver into any kind of helpful position. When at last he'd zipped the dress in, he removed his coat and tie and hung them up, managing somehow not to elbow me in the process. But it was a dance-and-weave process. He unzipped the bag that held my dress for dinner and paused before pulling it out.
I watched his profile in the mirror as he beheld the dress. I thought I saw a ghost of a smile, a tiny bit of tenderness. He caught me looking and the expression vanished.
I turned my back to him again. "Wait a minute. You don't think I'm going to wear this instrument of torture beneath that dress, do you? That's a pain only worth suffering for a wedding dress." I pointed to my corset. "I can barely breathe." For more reasons than the corset. "You'll have to unhook me." I lifted my hair again.
Castled: Duke Society Series Page 4