The Notorious Groom

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?”

Three

“Eli!” Chelsea’s excited voice floated down the long upstairs hallway. “Come see! Come see my room! It’s so-o-o-o cool!”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Eli called as he came up the stairs, juggling a pair of boxes. Counting doors, he went into the room that Norah had indicated was his and dumped his burden on the thick ivory carpet. He straightened and looked around.

Decorated in shades of cream, taupe and blue, the spacious room held the usual complement of furniture, plus a couch and a pair of chairs grouped around a marble-faced fireplace on the far wall, at a right angle to the trio of French doors that opened onto a wide terrace.

Like the rest of Willow Run, it was classy. Not to mention comfortable, attractive and a heck of a lot nicer than his previous domicile.

So why did he feel so out of sorts? he wondered as he moseyed over to the windows, twitched back the sheers, and stood looking out at the velvety green lawn bounded by its beautiful banks of flowers.

That was easy. If he had to take a guess, he would say it was because he’d had all the goodness he could take for one day. The room was good. The view was good. Chelsea was being good. Orter and old Lampley, within the confines of their holier-than-thou personalities, had been good.

As for Norah...well, he had to give her credit. Although clearly unnerved by their kiss, she’d done her darnedest to be a good postceremony hostess, serving refreshments, signing papers, anxiously making small talk until Lampley and Orter had finally left. She’d presented him with the keys to the carriage house—his new garage, she explained—and had given him and Chelsea a tour of it, the grounds and the house, as well as the rundown on Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, who came in three days a week to cook, clean and maintain the yard All in all, she’d been so good she probably qualified to have her picture next to the word in the dictionary.