Castled Prologue: Duke Society Series Read online

  Castled Prologue

  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 Prologue/Gina Robinson. — 1st ed.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About the Author

  CASTLED PROLOGUE

  Grace and I have been best friends since we were two. But I’ve been in love with her since college.

  * * *

  On the brink of turning thirty, she’s engaged to another guy and I’m not ready to let her go. Now that my fortunes are changing, I worry that I’m too late. And I’ve lost her forever.

  * * *

  A prologue to a modern gothic, friends to lovers, duke and duchess romance.

  * * *

  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.

  Chapter 1

  Noah, Twenty-nine years, 364 days

  Seattle

  Noah Marston, dreams of being a millionaire before thirty—ground into oblivion.

  So close. So close. Two fucking years of my life devoted to this startup. Eighty-hour workweeks. No personal life. For what? A few crappy hundred thousand dollars of stock in a giant corporation? That would only vest if I worked here for another five years while the corporation sucked my lifeblood from me? That stock would have been worth millions in an IPO. If our startup had gone public as planned.

  The principals, our two founders, had just made their cheerful announcement at the all-hands meeting we'd all been anticipating for weeks—they'd screwed us all royally. Instead of announcing our IPO, as everyone expected, they'd made a backroom deal with a big corporation and sold the company out from under us. Sold us all out. Fucking fantastic deal for them. Douchebag newly minted billionaires.

  The rest of us? All of the stock options those of us who'd slaved here since the early days had? Worth pennies compared to an IPO and independence.

  I sat at my beat-up secondhand desk in the open bullpen, shell-shocked, staring vacantly out the window. Like just about every one of my coworkers. There were no words. No damn words.

  An eerie hush settled over my entire floor like a death pall. Besides the hit to our financial dreams, we all knew what this meant. This wasn't my first startup. First the corporate guys would assure us that we'd be autonomous and nothing would change. They were just an umbrella shell for us. The founders would stay on. Then the pool and ping-pong tables would disappear overnight. The company would start charging for snacks. No more working lunches on the company. Big parent company's acronyms worked into the lexicon. And their big, slow-moving processes and schedules. Then we'd lose our individual decision-making power and ability to pivot quickly. Every manager and their dog would have to sign off on every decision, no matter how small.

  Next, a name change. We'd no longer be a company. We'd be a division. A cog in a corporate wheel. The founders would move on. The bright people would leave. Managers from the parent company would replace our execs. And all hope would leave the building as a stake was driven right through the heart of the startup atmosphere. Those few hapless startup people left would become corporate drones. Maybe they never belonged in a fast-paced startup in the first place.

  I needed a drink. Better enjoy drinking on the job while I could. Before corporate rules outlawed it.

  I stared at my phone on my desk. Pick it up. Pick it up, you stupid douche. Pick it up and call your network. Scramble. Get a jump on the rest of these zombies.

  I wouldn't listen to myself. Even though I knew I was right. I had to get on at the next big thing, the next startup that would make millionaires, even billionaires, out of the early employees. I had to hope like hell someone had an opening. That I could sell myself.

  I didn't move. I hated to admit it, but I was despondent. I couldn't stop thinking—back to square one. Back to working my ass off for years in the hopes the next venture would take off. Hope by some miracle I was a millionaire before thirty-five.

  I didn't want to end up like my stepdad—retired against his will at fifty-five from a big corporate job he'd given his life to. I had to make my money now. Set myself up in business. Working hard and then getting lucky in a startup or owning your own business were the only ways to get rich.

  In a few minutes, the rush to leave would begin. As soon as the initial shock wore off, the phones would come out.

  Tomorrow was my thirtieth birthday. The day I'd planned to be a millionaire. The day I'd worked my ass off for here for the last two years.

  I thumped my head on my desk, not caring who saw. My life was in the toilet. I'd spent the last twelve years trying to get the woman I was in love with out of my system. She loved me—as her best friend. Platonically, but deeply. I was irreplaceable. Her one true shoulder to cry on. The guy who made her laugh. The guy she was least likely to sleep with.

  In a week, she'd be thirty, too. In two weeks, she'd be married.

  I was going to have to go to Grace's wedding, not as a millionaire, and suck it up and get drunk. Sleep with one of her bridesmaids. Something dramatic.

  Where was a damn fairy godfather when you needed one?

  As I lifted my head and reached for my phone, it rang. Reception was calling me. Just what I needed—a vendor stopping by. Bad timing. I picked up. "Noah Marston."

  "Sorry to bother you, Noah." Our receptionist sounded as broken and downhearted as the rest of us. She was usually annoyingly perky. This was bad. "There's a British gentleman here to see you. He says he's a lawyer representing your family?"

  I sighed. What now? What did my old man want now? My signature so he could completely cut me out of his will? My affidavit that I would never sue the half brother I barely knew for my part of my dad's estate?

  "You'd better come see him, Noah." Our receptionist lowered her voice. "He looks very solemn. I'm afraid it's more bad news."

  What the hell wasn't?

  Chapter 2

  Eighteen

  All my life I'd been searching for a girl like her—blonde, gorgeous, a smile to stop my heart. Our eyes met. I felt the jolt of our connection all the way to my soul. And, admittedly, my dick. Just my luck, another guy was hitting on her. Getting in her face. Giving her grief. Refusing to take no for an answer. The guy knew no nuance. Had no finesse. Someone coach the poor douche on how to romance the ladies.

  He was twice my size. Shoulders as broad as a football field. Hulking. Muscled. Athletic. Damn. With any charisma at all, he should be able to have any girl he wanted. Including this one. I'd be a fo
ol to challenge him. He'd make pavement pizza out of me so fast…

  The open-air pedestrian mall pulsed with music. Week of Welcome event. Hormone-fest. Hookup opportunity. My new friends from the dorm had abandoned me in search of their own conquests and more booze.

  The August evening was hot and had a tinge of smoke from a distant forest fire. The heat made everyone, including me, thirsty, competitive, and bold. The evening was young. I was only buzzed. Still plenty of time to get stinking drunk. Half sober, I had no excuse for staring at her so blatantly. Someone needed to coach me on subtlety, too.

  Still looking directly at me, she mouthed, "Help."

  I should have looked away. I wasn't drunk enough yet to play hero. And not sober enough to stop myself. I pushed my way through the crowd, managing to squeeze between her and the douche, acting as if he wasn't there at all.

  "Hey." I kissed her lightly on the lips, taking full advantage.

  She closed her eyes and played along, kissing me back. Running her tongue around the rim of my lips like she owned me and knew what I liked. "Hey."

  "Miss me?" I whispered in her ear, wishing like hell she did.

  Her gaze flicked to the guy behind me. "I thought you'd never come back. Good timing."

  I handed her my red plastic cup of tepid punch. "For you. I had to fight my way in to get it."

  "Aren't you sweet?" She grinned and raised it to her generous lips. Her eyes were full of laughter. There was something familiar about her…

  "Hey, dickwad." The big guy breathed down my neck.

  I glared at him over my shoulder. "What's your problem? Get lost." I hitched a thumb toward the crowd of gyrating bodies around us.

  His eyes narrowed. He made a fist and looked ready to take aim at my jaw.

  I held my ground—because where could I go in this crush? And this was my one shot with this girl. Maybe sacrificing my jaw was worth it to impress her. Maybe she'd play nurse later. I raised an eyebrow. I was surprisingly good with a sardonic eyebrow lift.

  The guy held his hands up. "Sorry. I get it." He backed off. "Good luck with the bitch, buddy."

  I kept my eye on him as he drunkenly blended into the crowd, proud of myself. I'd just scored some big Brownie points with this hot chick.

  I turned around, ready to say something glib, just in time to see her slipping something back into her pocket.

  "Pepper spray." She shrugged. "I needed someone to distract him while I got it out. Works every time."

  My face fell. "And here I thought you needed me for my muscles and superior cunning."

  She laughed and handed my cup back to me. "I admire your courage. He was a big guy. I assume you were planning to use that superior cunning to get rid of him. Thanks."

  "Yeah. No problem. Any time you need a distraction." That was where my language skills started to fail me. What did I say now? Something original like "what's your major?"

  "It's hot here," she yelled over the music. "Walk with me?" She turned.

  I followed like her puppy dog. Had she made sure I'd seen that spray so I wouldn't get any ideas? What other weapons of touch-me-and-you're-a-dead-man was she carrying?

  She led me through the crowd to the edge of the mall. It was quieter and a few degrees cooler away from the crush of bodies. She found an empty patch of lawn in the midst of necking, groping couples, and sat. She patted an empty spot of browning grass next to her.

  My hopes for the evening rose considerably again. If I was lucky, creating a distraction had gotten me all the Brownie points I needed. I sat next to her.

  She stretched her legs in front of her and leaned back on her elbows. "Do I know you?"

  I shrugged, too cool for my own good, stopping myself from saying some douchey like No, but you could. "I don't think so. I generally remember girls who carry pepper spray."

  She laughed and looked out past the buildings on campus to the darkening sunset. "Weird. But I feel like I should. Of all the people in the crowd, when I caught your eye, I knew I could count on you." She sighed and closed her eyes.

  "Precognition?" I watched the heave of her breasts, and grew hornier by the second. Running through my moves—

  "Precognition? Premonition? I wish. But I don't think so. I really feel like I know you from somewhere." She tilted her face to give me a better look and stuck out her chin. "Sure you don't recognize me?"

  "Sorry. No." I couldn't very well tell her she looked like every wet dream I'd ever had.

  She shrugged. "Maybe I'm wrong." She paused. "I'm hardly ever wrong. Where are you from?"

  "Seattle area."

  She laughed again, a beautiful, deep-throated sound. "That narrows it down. My boyfriend's in Seattle." Her eyes narrowed. She clearly wasn't happy with him. "He should be here with me. Long distance is so inconvenient."

  Unfortunately, she wasn't flirting. She was pissed at him. Maybe even at guys in general. I was sober enough to realize I'd just been shot down.

  She sat up. "Grace." She held her hand out to me.

  "Noah." Her slim hand felt good in mine. As I released it, I noticed her left hand. She was wearing a ring on her ring finger. Great. "Engaged?"

  "Promised. Noah," she said, rolling my name around as if tasting it. "Noah. Noah. Noah." Her brow furrowed. "I feel like I knew a Noah once. But I can't remember where. So frustrating. It's on the tip of my brain."

  "The tip of your brain?" I said. "Your brain is pointed?"

  "Yes. Can't you see? I'm a pointy-brained egghead."

  I smiled. "Your hair covers it nicely."

  She sighed. "What am I going to do with you, Noah? The rounded edge of my brain, then, if you like." She studied me. "You have unique eyes. That's part of what drew me to you. You'd think I'd remember eyes like yours. Silvery blue? Bluish gray? And an interesting shape—deep-set and hooded."

  "Marston eyes," I said. "They're a family trait, apparently. So they tell me."

  "Is that so?" She held my gaze. "They're nice."

  I shrugged. The fact that she liked my eyes wasn't winning me enough points for what I wanted. I cursed the Marstons for being late bloomers, too. Already almost a year younger than my fellow freshmen, I had enough of a disadvantage. If I had shoulders like a football field…

  "You have an odd sense of humor, Noah who I can't yet remember. Is that a family trait, too?"

  "I don't know," I said. "No one's said."

  "Tell me something about yourself. Tell me something no one here knows. Maybe it will jog my memory."

  Her eyes sparkled in the last of the light of day, reflecting the sunset. "If you tell me something mundane, like your major, I'll get up and walk away. And that will be the end of our beautiful friendship." She had a way of speaking and looking at me that had absolutely morphed into flirting.

  I was her toy. I was so confused. I couldn't speak. She had said she had a boyfriend? And was promised, whatever the hell that meant? My buzzed mind hadn't imagined that.

  "Cat got your tongue?" Her tone was playful and sexy.

  "I'm a triple citizen." My citizenship? That was my claim to fame?

  Her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure what that means?"

  "You know, like a dual citizen?" I said. "I'm a citizen in three countries—the U.S., Canada, and U.K."

  Her eyes widened. "Impressive. I think. How is that possible?"

  "My mom's American. My dad's a dual citizen—Canadian and British."

  "Oh." She nodded.

  I was losing her. "I'm in line to be an earl."

  "An earl?" She perked up.

  Now I was interesting. Why hadn't I led with that? Note to self—girls liked British stuff and earls.

  "A British earl? Like nobility?"

  I nodded. She made me so nervous. "Yeah. My dad's an earl."

  "Oh. Wow!" She was really interested now. "With a castle and all that? When I was little, I always wanted to be a princess." She laughed. "Meeting an almost-earl will probably be as close as I get to anything royal."

  Why
had I opened my mouth? Now I'd have to explain. The truth wasn't nearly as sexy.

  "No. No castle. Dad sold it to buy a ranch in Calgary."

  Her face fell. I was suddenly a whole lot less interesting.

  "I'm only second in line to be the earl. After my older half brother."

  The sun fell behind the horizon. The overhead lights came on. A bass beat boomed in the background.

  Grace beamed again. "The interesting things you learn when you ask the right questions. You're a second son. Never give up hope, Noah. I can imagine a whole string of scenarios where you end up being the earl, even if only for a few days when you're old and gray." She held her phone out to me. "Give me your phone number, almost future earl Noah. I have the feeling we're going to become great friends. And I'm almost never wrong about these things."

  Chapter 3

  Nineteen

  Mom's Weekend

  Gray, as I'd nicknamed Grace, called as I was giving my mom the tour of the business administration building. Gray of the boyfriend I despised. Gray, who wound up as my chemistry lab partner and in half my classes both semesters. Despite the fact I was a business major and she was majoring in food science. Gray, who'd become my best friend. Gray, who teased me about growing six inches since I met her. And eating more than my fair share of the popcorn at the movies. And wolfing down all the carryout pizza. Gray, whom I still lusted after and was in love with.

  "Mom and I are at the bookstore at the SUB," she said in that light, ebullient tone that turned me on. Gray had the perfect female voice, in my opinion. Never shrill. Just deep enough. Always held a hint of flirtation. "Come join us! It will be fun. We can all grab a bite of lunch together and then maybe hit the bookstore. We'll save you a table."