Читать книгу The Notorious Groom - Caroline Cross - Страница 9

Two

“Well, my dear, I’m afraid that does it.” Ezra Lampley, the patrician old gentleman who was Norah’s attorney, closed the file on his desk with a look of intense regret. “I’m sorry there’s been no word from Mr. Wilder. You’re certain there’s no one else you might ask?”

Norah shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“You looked through the personal column in the Sunday paper as I suggested?”

“Yes.”

“And you looked at your school yearbook, as well as the library cardholder list, and still couldn’t come up with anyone?”

She gave an apologetic shrug. “It’s...a small town.” She saw no reason to mention Nick Carpetti. After all, Mr. Lampley had looked frail ever since his mild heart attack last winter. Why upset him by revealing that her only other candidate was out of the running because his parole had been revoked?

The attorney sat back in his big leather chair, his thin face pensive. “Then we’re truly out of options. Which means,” he said heavily, “that sometime next week, Judge Martin will issue a decree and soon after that, Willow Run will go on the market.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Norah tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach. “It’s all right. Really. I know you did your best.”

His narrow mouth lifted in a caustic smile. “My best? I don’t know about that. It seems your grandfather has won after all.”

Norah was silent. After a few seconds, though, she hesitantly gave voice to the thought that had been bothering her for weeks. “Perhaps he was right,” she said quietly. “Not that women, in general, are incapable of taking care of themselves,” she hastened to add, “but that I’m not suited for such responsibility—”

“Nonsense.” The attorney wagged his finger at her. “Don’t forget who was really making the decisions the last few years of your grandfather’s life—and who did a fine job of it, I might add. No, my dear. This is merely another example of Arthur’s pigheaded insistence on having his own way, no matter who it hurt. And I, for one, think it’s a damn shame.”

“Yes, but...it is—or was—Grandfather’s property, to do with as he wished. And it’s not as if he’s left me penniless—”

“Hah! A trust. As though you’re a child, instead of a fine, responsible young woman who has turned out far better than the old coot deserved.” Lampley shook his head. “Don’t start making apologies for him, Norah Jane. Not after all the years you took care of him. And don’t sit there and try to make me think you don’t mind losing your home. I know very well you never would have agreed to my idea of an expedient marriage if it didn’t matter to you a great deal”

Norah bit her lip, not bothering to deny it. She did care. Yet she also knew that in his own way, her grandfather had trusted her to do the right thing. He might not have thought she was as competent as a man, but he’d expected her to be as honorable as one.

And up until last week she had been. She’d resisted Mr. Lampley’s advice that she marry now and divorce later. She’d been resigned to losing her home, had even convinced herself that it was probably for the best—until Chelsea’s disclosures about the Wilder finances made her think that a marriage of convenience might be justified if it helped someone other than herself.

Not that it mattered now, she thought with a sigh.

The sound was echoed by Mr. Lampley. Then, as was happening more and more often lately, the attorney’s eyes took on a distant look. “Arthur always was difficult, you know, even when we were boys. Brilliant with money, of course, but so stubborn, so autocratic, so full of himself. He had no talent for people. He got lucky when he married your grandmother, who was a truly exceptional woman. But when he lost her and Clayton and Jeanine in that auto accident, it soured turn for life. He was never the same. And you, dear child, have unfortunately paid the price.”

Norah nodded. She’d heard the tragic tale so often that sometimes it was almost as if she could remember the grandmother and parents who’d died when she was still an infant.

The lawyer suddenly straightened and sent her an apologetic look. “Forgive an old man, my dear. When one gets to be my age, the past sometimes seems more real than the present. And I must say, as much as it galls me to see Arthur win, it’s probably for the best under the circumstances. Despite your assertion to the contrary, Mr. Wilder was hardly a suitable marital candidate. I’m sure I’m not the only one who remembers the uproar over his relationship—” he grimaced with distaste “—with that teacher.”

“Nothing was ever proven,” Norah said earnestly.

Mr. Lampley made a tsking sound. “Need I remind you that both of them left town right after graduation? Proof enough, I should think, of their guilt.”

“So it would seem. On the other hand, there was no reason for him to stay. Not after his uncle threw him out.”

“Be that as it may, it hardly speaks well of his character that he returned to Kisscount without a wife but with a child.”

Norah couldn’t help it, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree,” she said quietly. “These days, so many men simply walk away from their responsibilities. I think it’s...admirable that Elijah has his daughter with him. It can’t be easy for him, even though Chelsea is a wonderful little girl. And she adores him, so he must be doing something right.”

The old man’s face softened. “You’re too kindhearted by far, my dear.”

“Oh, no. Not really.” Embarrassed that she’d revealed such intimate feelings, she glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, look at the time. I really should get back to the library.”

“Very well.” Mr. Lampley cleared his throat. “However, I would like to say that I know the next few weeks won’t be easy for you. If there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Norah summoned a smile. “Thank you. But you’ve already done so much. Unless...” She bit her lip, wondering if she dared to ask.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering...that is...” She took a deep breath. “Do you think you could call Security-TrustCo Insurance and see if anything can be done to expedite the Wilders’ claim?”

He frowned. “Well, yes, of course I can. But are you sure? You certainly don’t owe it to Wilder, and it might take some tune, which could prove expensive.”

“That’s all right.” It wasn’t for Eli, she told herself. It was for Chelsea. But Norah didn’t explain, unwilling to reveal her private fear that she’d gotten the child in trouble by telling Eli that they’d talked. She knew how angry her grandfather would have been if she’d ever confided family business to an outsider; she would have been confined to her room for months.

And she was painfully aware that Chelsea hadn’t been to the library for summer reading sessions since she had been to see Eli last week.

Norah swallowed. As much as she dreaded the idea, she’d already decided that after work she’d go apologize to Eli—and Chelsea—for putting them in such an awkward position. Her request to Mr. Lampley was simply another way to make amends.

“Very well. Is that all?” the attorney said, interrupting her troubled thoughts.

“Actually, I...I would prefer to remain anonymous, if that’s possible.”

The attorney gave her a searching look, then nodded. “Very well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lampley.”

The old man nodded, they said their goodbyes, and minutes later Norah found herself out on the sidewalk in the bright afternoon sunshine.

Despite her philosophical words to Mr. Lampley, her heart was heavy as she set off on the three-block walk to the library. She took no pleasure from the bright awnings and cheerful window displays that were the hallmark of Kisscount’s cozy downtown area. Instead, as she walked along the tree-lined street, her attention was focused inward, on her own uncertain future.

She would just have to be brave for a change, she told herself sternly, as she considered leaving Willow Run. People moved all the time, and not just to a different house in a different neighborhood, but to new cities and states and even countries. And though many probably did it because they wanted to, an equal number no doubt did it because they had no choice. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she ought to be grateful that she had a good job and didn’t have to worry about money.

Besides, this might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps being torn away from her comfort zone would force her to become more like the bold, self-reliant heroines in the books she adored. Maybe she would finally be able to become the woman she longed to be deep down inside: kind but confident, not afraid to stand up for what she believed in, the sort of woman who wasn’t afraid to wear red, or take vacations alone, who had a man’s name tattooed on her thigh, who lived instead of merely existing—

Reason returned with a crash as she caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. Her gaze went from her severe hairstyle, to her skinny body in its demure, calf-length dress, cotton anklets and sensible tennis shoes.

She sighed. Who was she kidding? A tattoo? Not likely.

She resumed walking, surprised to realize that she was almost at the library, a large single-story building on the edge of the downtown business district. Although done in post-Modernist style, with low, angled walls and vast expanses of glass, the interior was surprisingly homey, with many unexpected nooks and crannies.

It was not the library’s architecture that endeared it to Norah, however; it was the central role it had played in her life for almost as long as she could remember. As the only place other than school where her grandfather had allowed her to hang out, she’d spent hours here as a child. Happily for her, she’d loved to read, and the books she found had opened up an entire new world of ideas and adventures

She stooped to pick up a candy wrapper that someone had tossed in the flower bed, then rose and pulled open the heavy glass door, feeling a sense of homecoming as she was enveloped in the familiar hush.

Andrea Rand, the young blonde who had taken over for the summer while Norah’s regular assistant librarian was on maternity leave, looked up from the fashion magazine she was reading. “Thank goodness. You’re back.”

Norah swallowed a sigh as she saw the other woman’s mournful expression. “Is something the matter?”

“It’s just so dead today.” Andrea gave a sigh. “Nobody wants to be in here when they can go to the pool or he in the sun or do something fun.”

“Nobody” clearly included Andrea, Norah realized as she came around the end of the counter and saw the pile of books the other woman had haphazardly tossed on the return cart. Not for the first time, she wondered what on earth had possessed Andrea to apply for the job when she was so obviously unsuited for it.

“Now that you’re finally back, it seems silly for both of us to be here,” the blonde went on. “It’s certainly not as if we’re overwhelmed with customers. And the thing is...” She dredged up an ingratiating smile. “Don called, and we made plans to celebrate the two-week anniversary of our first date tonight. So I was really hoping I could leave a little early so I’d have time to stop by McGuire’s and see if I could find a new dress....”

Norah thought guiltily about the stack of paperwork waiting for her in her office. “How early?”

“Well, actually, I thought I’d leave now. You don’t mind, do you?”

Norah knew she should. After all, Andrea had already left early eight times in the past two weeks, leaving Norah with enough work for...well, for two people.

“What about the returns?” Shelving them was supposed to be one of Andrea’s daily duties.

The blonde gave a sad little sigh. “My wrist hurts. That’s another reason I ought to leave. I’m sure you wouldn’t want it to get worse.”

Norah knew she should put an end to this conversation right now. Yet she really wasn’t in the mood to endure an entire afternoon of Andrea moping, which was what would happen if she said no. And the library was her responsibility ..

Coward

“How about if you left in about an hour? That way, I could get some work done on the budget—”

“Oh, pooh. Can’t you work on it at home tonight? I mean, it’s not as if you’re likely to have a hot date or anything.”

Although Norah was sure Andrea didn’t mean to be cruel, her thoughtless words stung. She swallowed. “Well, yes, that’s true—”

“Great!” In her first show of energy since Norah had arrived, the younger woman snatched up her purse, bounded around the end of the counter and bolted for the door. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Oh, but—”

“By the way, Mrs. Carpenter called about the library fund-raiser. She said to tell you they’ve finally settled on a date—August first—and she’s looking forward to seeing you.” With that, Andrea yanked open one of the heavy doors as if it weighed nothing, bolted through the opening and disappeared from sight.

Norah’s shoulders drooped as Andrea’s last shot hit its mark. Could it possibly be time for another library fund-raiser? She gave a little shiver. It was the one part of her job—other than dealing with difficult assistants—that she disliked. Not only because she never seemed to know what to wear, or what to do with her hair, or even how to let loose enough to drink a glass of champagne, but because she always seemed to wind up either standing alone in a corner drinking punch, or listening politely to someone else talk, afraid to offer her opinion. As for taking a turn on the dance floor—forget it.

Still, her presence was expected, and the fund-raiser was some time away. And when compared to losing Willow Run, it did seem like a minor inconvenience.

Sighing, she went to get her paperwork from the office.

At least Andrea had been right about one thing. It was quiet Over the next hour, only a handful of people came in, and Norah was able to get a surprising amount of work done. By the time she finally looked at her watch, she was surprised to see that it was only half an hour to closing time.

She stretched, then set about organizing the day’s returns, knowing she would feel better if the books were back on the shelves when she came in tomorrow morning.

Twenty minutes later she had only two books left on the cart. Both belonged in the travel section, so she picked them up and walked to the appropriate aisle, snagged a rolling stool and climbed up. She was just sliding the volumes into place when a low, familiar voice sounded close behind her.

“Hey, Boo. Need some help?”

She gasped, twisting around so fast she nearly fell right off the stool. “Eli! What are you doing here?”

With his usual look of lazy amusement, he reached out to steady her. “It is a public library,” he said mildly “And I do know how to read.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean...that is, I did, but it was merely a figure of speech—” She stopped and bit her lip, mortified that she was making a fool of herself, as usual. Hoping some distance might help, she stepped sideways off the stool, only to find she had a better view of him.

She couldn’t help but notice how his loose black tank top emphasized the tan on his muscular shoulders. Or the sinful way his age-whitened jeans clung to his lower contours. Or how attractive his bare feet looked in their plain leather sandals—and she’d never thought of feet as appealing! Unnerved, she glanced up and got yet another shock when she saw that he had a small diamond stud in one ear.

An odd, inexplicable quiver went through her. She took a deep breath, only to find she’d made a major mistake when she was inundated with the decidedly male scent of his aftershave.

“What’s the matter?” Eli asked curiously.

“Nothing. I... was just wondering about Chelsea.” Perhaps if she focused on his role as a father, he wouldn’t seem quite so intimidating. “I’ve missed seeing her lately. She’s not ill, is she?”

His glorious blue eyes turned enigmatic. “No. She’s just been a little...preoccupied...lately.”

“Oh.” Unable to help herself, she let out a sigh of relief. “I was worried,.”

“About what?”

She gathered her courage. “I thought perhaps you were...angry with her.”

“Angry?” He said the word as if he’d never heard it before. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because she told me about...about the problem with your insurance. I’m afraid I may have given you the impression that she confides in me on a regular basis. But she doesn’t.”

An indecipherable look flashed across his face.

Certain it was disgust—she’d never been a good liar—she amended hastily, “Yes, well, m-maybe she does. But not usually about you. Or your private business. Mostly we discuss books. And places we’d like to see. If you’re angry with anyone, it should be me—”

“Relax, Boo. I’m not mad at you, and I’m not mad at Chelsea. And even if I was, I wouldn’t forbid her to come to the library.”

“You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head. “Nope. In case you haven’t noticed, forbidding things isn’t exactly my style.”

Her gaze automatically slid toward his earring. “Oh. Oh, of course not.” Obviously she wasn’t thinking clearly.

“I came by to tell you that if you still want to get married, I’ll do it,” he added casually.

She could feel her jaw go slack. “You will?”

“Yeah.” His manner was so laid-back they might have been discussing the weather. “That is, unless you’ve changed your mind or found somebody else?”

“No.”

“Well, okay, then.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets and rocked back on his heels. “When do you want to do it?”

“Sunday is my birthday,” she said automatically, her thoughts whirling. Her prayers had been answered. Willow Run was hers.

So why did she suddenly have a sense of impending disaster?

“Sunday it is, then.” Eli glanced over at the clock on the wall and straightened with the same effortless grace he did everything. “Look, I hate to run, but I’ve got a date. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll work out the details, okay?”

He had a date? “Oh-okay.”

“Hey, Boo?”

“Wh-what?”

His voice dropped to an intimate murmur. “Relax. There’s no reason we can’t have some fun with this.”

Fun? Norah thought dazedly as he walked away. Somehow, she didn’t think so.

“I can’t believe we’re going to live here,” Chelsea said excitedly. “It’s so-o-o pretty.”

Pretty didn’t begin to describe it, Eli thought, as he pulled his ancient Corvette onto the verge of Willow Run’s big circular drive, switched off the engine and took a long look around. “It’s okay,” he said neutrally, not about to confess that he felt as if he’d driven onto the set of Gone With the Wind.

He had to admit he’d forgotten how imposing the place was. Situated well off the street in its own private park, the house rose three full stories and looked like a transplanted Southern mansion. He supposed there was some sort of fancy name for the style—Georgian or Palladian or Edwardian—and he wished he could say it was ugly or pretentious or something. But it wasn’t. Instead, with its gleaming white paint, sweeping stone terraces and country garden landscaping, Willow Run could best be described as old-money-meets-good-taste classy.

For some reason, he found himself thinking about the small collection of water-stained belongings stashed in the trunk. Just for an instant, the idea of hauling them out and carrying them inside this ritzy home made him feel embarrassed and ashamed—the way he had as a kid when he’d had to get his school clothes from the charity bin because Uncle Leo had spent all their money on booze.

His reaction irritated him. After all, this situation was hardly the same. He wasn’t the needy one here. Norah had come to him. And the only reason he’d agreed to the scheme was out of concern for Chelsea’s health—and his sanity—after it had become clear that nothing he said or did was going to convince his darling daughter to give up her “Poor, poor Miss Brown” campaign.

Still, he’d resisted for close to a week, until late one night when he’d found himself wondering why. Why shouldn’t he marry Norah Jane? As long as Chelsea knew the score, what was the harm? Both he and Boo were unattached, well past the age of consent. It wasn’t as if he would be making a real commitment...or that his reputation could get any worse. Heck, it could even be viewed as a sort of atonement, a way to make up for the way he had teased her in high school. Not that he owed her anything. It wasn’t his fault she’d been a wallflower back then, any more than it was his responsibility to watch out for her now.

Although when it came to looking out for herself, Boo definitely could use some help. That had become clear when he’d heard through the grapevine that despite his warning, she’d tried to arrange a meeting with Nick Carpetti. Lucky for her, Carpetti had been unavailable. Still, she just didn’t seem to understand that someone unscrupulous could take advantage of her offer.

Not that he cared or anything remotely close to that. It was just...irritating. Their nonexistent prenuptial agreement was a case in point. It was a toss-up whether he or old Mr. Lampley, her attorney, had been more taken aback when she refused to even discuss one. Not that Norah had noticed. She’d been too busy plucking at her skirt in that annoying way she had to notice their dumbfounded expressions when she announced that she trusted him to do the right thing.

If that wasn’t proof the woman could use a keeper, he didn’t know what was. He didn’t even trust himself that much.

“Come on!” Chelsea’s enthusiastic exhortation put an end to his musing. Unhooking her seat belt, his daughter threw open her door and clambered off the seat, then turned to regard him impatiently as she yanked down the hem of her dress. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Speak for yourself,” he murmured, climbing out of the car and coming around the hood to where she stood, fidgety with anticipation. He gave her a chiding look. “For a kid who couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed just a few days ago, you sure made a miraculous recovery.”

“Yeah, I know.” She grinned as they crossed the drive and started up the wide, shallow stairs of the portico. “Aren’t you glad?”

Her grin was hard to resist Even though he knew it was probably a mistake to be such a pushover, he reached out and gave one of her bright curls an affectionate tug. “Yeah, I guess. Just don’t forget this is temporary,” he stressed. “Once the insurance money comes through, we’re out of here like we discussed, remember?”

She darted ahead to ring the bell. Framed by the massive front door, which was painted a glossy black, crowned by a fanlight and flanked by matching flower-filled planters, she spun around and made a face at him “I remember. Just don’t forget that you promised to be nice to Miss Brown.”

“Hey, I’m always nice,” he protested, doing his best to look wounded.

His irreverent offspring rolled her eyes. “Not hardly.”

“Now, listen here, kid—” He broke off as the door swung open. He had a quick glimpse of a gleaming marble floor, an enormous vase filled with fresh flowers, and a wide staircase that curved up and away before his gaze met Norah’s.

“Hello,” she said uncertainly.

At the same time Chelsea cried, “Hey, Miss Brown. We’re here!”

With an air of relief she couldn’t disguise, Norah looked away from him and focused her attention on Chelsea. “You certainly are,” she replied, her expression softening as she stepped back to make room for them to enter. “And you look wonderful. What a pretty dress.”

“I know. It’s new.” Chelsea skipped inside and twirled, making the soft blue fabric of the skirt bell out. “Most of our stuff got burned in the fire, so I got this and a new swimsuit and some cool shorts and stuff. Eli got some new clothes, too.”

“Oh.” Norah bit her lip, then glanced toward him.

He watched her expression go from surprised appreciation to just plain surprised as she registered that beneath his exquisitely cut tuxedo jacket, he was wearing a T-shirt, jeans and his favorite high-top tennis shoes. He had to give her credit, though. With her better-than-Miss Manners-manners, she only had to swallow once before she managed a feeble smile.

“You—you look nice, too.”

“Thanks.” Amused, he directed a pointed look at his daughter. “See, I told you she’d like it.” He turned back to Norah. “She didn’t think I was dressed up enough,” he confided blandly, one adult to another. “So we stopped by the Riptide on the way over and I borrowed the jacket from a friend of mine. Sorry if we’re a little late.”

She blinked at the mention of the local cocktail lounge.

“It’s all right,” she said weakly.

He looked around, glancing from the thick Oriental rugs to the satiny wood on the banister, to the creamy paint on the walls. The huge entry was comfortably cool despite the sunshine that poured from a bank of windows high above the open staircase. The air smelled sweet and clean, like carnations and sunshine. “Nice place.” No kidding, Einstein. It was definitely a step up from their previous lodgings.

“Thank you.”

As subtle as a boulder, Chelsea nudged him. “Don’t you think Miss Brown looks pretty, Eli?”

He gave Boo a quick once-over. With her old-fashioned hairdo and nonexistent makeup, she looked the way she usually did—except for her dress, a limp, apricot-lace affair that looked as if it might have a secret life as a tablecloth. He opened his mouth to ask who in town disliked her enough to sell her such a thing, only to hear somebody who sounded exactly like him say, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Oh.” Norah’s narrow face lit with startled pleasure. “Oh...thank you.”

Well, hell. She didn’t have to act so surprised. It was no big deal.

She turned and took a few steps, then turned back and motioned them to follow, obviously flustered. “If you’ll come this way...” Once more she started down the wide, airy hallway. “Judge Orter and Mr. Lampley are already here. They’re waiting in the study. I guess we can just go ahead and get started. That is, if that’s still all right with you, Eli?”

Eli shrugged. They’d been over this already, the day they’d gone to get the license and see the attorney. Although he wasn’t wild about the judge—he’d had a few run-ins with Orter during his teenage years—a civil ceremony made far more sense than having one of the local ministers come in. “No problem.”

“But you don’t like the study,” Chelsea protested, frowning at Norah’s back.

“It’s not my most favorite place in the house, that’s true,” Norah agreed, “but the judge felt it was the most appropriate.” Her footsteps slowed. Gesturing them to precede her, she ushered them into a long, rectangular room.

One look around was all it took Eli to understand her reservations. Although expensively furnished with walnut paneling, navy leather furniture, burgundy carpeting and heavy brocade draperies, the room was dark and oppressive. He’d been in morgues that were more uplifting. Nor was the ambiance helped by the larger-than-life-size portrait of Norah’s grandfather that dominated one wall. From what Eli remembered, the artist had ably captured Arthur Brown’s remote, intimidating manner, he could practically feel the old guy’s oil-painted eyes burning a hole between his shoulder blades as he moved forward to greet the two men standing at the far end of the room.

The elderly pair looked like mismatched bookends. Although both were dressed in navy three-piece suits, Judge Orter was tall, heavyset and balding, while Attorney Lampley was short, thin and had a full shock of white hair. Their reactions to his attire as he approached were almost identical, however. Each gave a start, then a sniff, then acquired a distinct air of disapproval.

Eli inclined his head. “Judge. Lampley.”

“Wilder,” they intoned in unison. There was a strained silence.

Norah stepped into the breach. “Ezra, Judge, I don’t believe either of you have met Elijah’s daughter.” Laying a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder, she urged her forward. “This is Chelsea. She’s going to be in fourth grade next year, and she’s one of my very best helpers at the library.”

Chelsea smiled her most charming smile. “Hello.”

Both men’s expressions lightened as they took turns shaking her hand. Once that was done, Judge Orter quickly returned to type, however. Drawing himself up, he glanced pointedly at his wristwatch, then said to Norah, “Now that Wilder is finally here, I think it’s time we get started. If the two of you would step forward—”

“Could we have the ceremony outside?” Chelsea interjected. “Please? It’s kinda gloomy in here. It’s sunny outside, and we could at least see some flowers, since poor Miss Brown doesn’t even have a bouquet.”

Poor Miss Brown? Eli considered his daughter’s guileless expression and decided it was time to draw the line. But before he could say a word, Orter intervened.

“Don’t be ridiculous, young lady. As I’ve already explained to your soon-to-be stepmama, a wedding is a very solemn occasion, even this questionable affair. Although neither you nor she appear to appreciate it, I insist we do whatever we can to retain at least a semblance of dignity.”

Chelsea frowned. “But it’s not your wedding.”

Orter stiffened. “Norah Jane! Tell this child to behave, if you please.”

“I don’t think so, Judge.” Up until that moment, Eli hadn’t really cared one way or the other where they held the ceremony. And though he’d duly noted Norah’s stricken expression and the way she nevertheless stepped in front of Chelsea as if to shield the child from the judge’s wrath, he was quick to assure himself that he wasn’t moved or otherwise affected. He just didn’t like Orter’s insistence on behaving like the Voice of Authority. “Chelsea’s right. I think we’d all feel better outside.” He gave a nod to his delighted daughter, who promptly let loose a very unladylike whoop and dashed toward the French doors, which she threw open after shoving aside the heavy draperies. Planting a hand on Norah’s shoulder, he turned her around and gave her a nudge in the right direction.

“But the judge...” she protested faintly, looking back at him with a cunous combination of relief and anxiety.

“He’ll live,” he said, ushering her out into the bright sunlight.

It was a definite improvement Even though it was early in the season, the gardens were filled with color.

Lampley and the judge appeared moments later. With a sour expression, Orter took a look around, then strode toward the nearest trellised archway, where he turned and stared hard at Eli. “Now may we begin?” he demanded peevishly.

Eli glanced at Norah, who nodded. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

“Wait!” Chelsea rushed over and thrust a handful of pansies at Norah.

“Oh, Chelsea. Thank you.”

The child beamed. “You’re welcome.”

Orter glanced at the limp bouquet, harrumphed, but motioned them closer. Assuming a most solemn expression, he pulled a small leatherbound book from his pocket and opened it to a place marked by a crisp gold ribbon. He drew himself up. “Friends,” he intoned, his expression making it clear he considered them anything but. “We are gathered together to unite this man and this woman in lawful matrimony.

“Marriage is an honorable affair, not to be entered into lightly. As such, I must ask if anyone here knows of any impediment to your joining? No? Then let us proceed.

“Do you, Elijah Rose Wilder, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Eli’s voice was calm and cool. “I do.”

“And do you, Norah Jane Brown, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Norah worried her bottom lip. The marriage ceremony seemed to be going rather...fast. Perhaps she and Elijah had made a mistake when they’d instructed the judge to keep the more flowery parts of the ceremony to a minimum. “I...I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the State of Oregon, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” With a snap, he closed the book.

It was over. A handful of words and she was married. Norah stared down at her bare hands—they’d agreed not to have a ring—and gave an involuntary shiver. Somehow this didn’t seem very official.

“Eli?” Chelsea said in a stage whisper. “The judge must’ve forgot. I’m pretty sure this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss her.”

The child’s innocent assertion brought Norah’s head up. She opened her mouth to protest, but was drowned out by a pair of more voluble comments.

“Nonsense! I most certainly did not forget,” the judge asserted in the same instant that Mr. Lampley objected.

“A kiss? Poppycock! Under the circumstances, I hardly think that’s necessary—”

“She’s right.” Eli’s quiet voice silenced both men.

Norah gasped. “She is?”

He turned toward her. “Sure.” Although his voice was light, his eyes were dark and glittered with some unreadable emotion. “After all, if you can’t live a little on your wedding day—” he stepped alarmingly close “—when can you? Your wedding night?”

Paralyzed by his sudden nearness, it took a second for his meaning to sink in. “Oh. Oh, no. That is, I d-don’t think—”

“Go with that.” With no further warning, he slid his hands up her arms and cupped them around her shoulders.

Oh, dear. To her shock, a jolt of pure pleasure flashed through her. She stared up at him, her heart pounding, her thoughts tumbling wildly. If she found the mere clasp of his hands on her bare skin so unnerving, how would she ever survive the touch of—

His mouth. Oh, my. His mouth was divine. It skimmed her lips, then slowly, slowly, settled in. Hot, slick and certain, it effortlessly matched the shape of hers, coaxing a response she was helpless to prevent.

But then, maybe she didn’t want to. She’d wondered for so long what it would be like to be swept up in a masculine embrace. She’d speculated, theorized and conjectured. She’d read countless books and watched scores of movies.

Now she knew, and it was even better than anything she’d ever imagined.

A haze settled in, fogging her brain. All she could do was feel. And what she felt was the controlled strength of Eli’s hands on her shoulders. The heat of his mouth as it plumbed hers. The unexpected ache blooming low inside her.

He widened his mouth over hers. Something tickled her lower lip. She vaguely realized it was his tongue.

How strange. How shocking. How...exciting.

Her knees turned to water. Instinctively she leaned forward, slid her hands up his chest and pressed even closer.

“Oh!” With a muffled cry, she opened her eyes as he abruptly thrust her away.

She blinked as the sudden blast of sunshine washed away the haze in her brain. She looked around, registering various expressions. Chelsea looked happy, if a little embarrassed. Judge Orter seemed on the verge of swallowing his tongue. Mr. Lampley seemed oddly alarmed. As for Eli—

She forced herself to look up.

In his face, she could see nothing at all. The discovery made her heart sink. Particularly when she realized that just seconds ago she’d been all over him like a clinging vine.

But this was not the time, nor the place, for histrionics.

No matter what her feelings—and, oh, how she wished she could disappear in a puff of smoke or sink through the floor—there were other people she had to consider.

She tried to decide what Emily Post would do.

“Well. Now that that’s done...” She took a deep breath and came up with a shaky smile. “Would anyone care for a piece of cake?”