The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(21)

Chapter Seven




Preston prowled the tiny apartment, the worn floorboards squeaking beneath his boots. His mood was decidedly black after his shit-filled day.

After the news about Twenty-Third Street and the visit with Delafield, things hadn’t improved. The unions on his twelve-story Wall Street project were grumbling, and materials for the nine-story office building in midtown were delayed. There hadn’t been time for dinner, except a quick bite from a street cart.

He blew out a long breath and forced himself to relax. His glorious reinette would arrive soon and he didn’t wish to take his terrible mood out on her. No, tonight he planned to charm her—and if that led to a vigorous bout of fucking, then he would not complain.

She’d completely undone him last night at the French Ball. Had knocked him sideways. He hadn’t planned for that. He intended to find a woman there, share some mutual pleasure and never see her again. Neat and organized, just how he preferred.

But everything had changed after the pure and passionate way she’d responded to him. It was unlike anything in recent memory. There was a joyous innocence, a wide-eyed curiosity to her, that was so damn appealing. She hadn’t even touched his cock and he’d shot off in his hand like a teenage boy.

He couldn’t wait to take his time with her tonight, see where the evening took them. If she was amenable, he’d meet her here on a schedule. Twice a week should do it. Saturday night, of course, because he was usually free, and whatever night during the week he could manage.

A soft knock broke into his thoughts just as the clock on the mantel began to chime eleven o’clock. His reinette was right on time. Muscles clenching in anticipation, he strode to the door. The knob turned easily and he swung the wood panel open—

His body jolted. What on earth?

Katherine Delafield was on his doorstep. What was she doing here? Was she lost?

Something flickered in her eyes, something familiar. He’d seen it last night, as well as the surprised curve of her lips when they bumped into one another in the corridor.

Wait, had it been . . . ?

No, that was impossible.

Absolutely ludicrous.

And yet, what other explanation was there? Why else would this uptown princess come to an apartment building on Jane Street at this hour, if not to meet her lover from last night?

Goddamn it.

Ice sank into the marrow of his bones, freezing him over, as his mind raced. Had she known it was him the entire time? Had she thought to trick him? But to what end?

Was she trying to force him to marry her? Had her father put her up to this?

“You,” he snarled.

She stared up at him, looking as bewildered as he felt. “You,” she breathed.

Still gripping the door, he stepped aside. His voice was low and even. “Get inside. Right now.”

She stiffened and leaned away from him. “Do not order me about, Preston Clarke. You have no such right, not with me.”

“Get inside this apartment now, Katherine. Otherwise I’ll happily have this conversation in the hall.”

That did the trick. Head high, she pushed past him and entered the apartment. He shut the door with a snap. “I think you’d best explain yourself.”

She whirled and lowered the hood of her cloak. “Me? You’d best explain yourself first.”

The ice in his veins was quickly replaced by a white-hot anger so fierce that it was a wonder his skin didn’t burst into flames. He wished for a drink, to dull the feeling, but that was the very worst reason to have one. “I have naught to explain, Katherine. You, on the other hand, have much to justify. Starting with why you, an unmarried lady, went to the French Ball.”

“May I have a drink first?”

“Suit yourself.” He gestured toward the sideboard and took a seat, rudely sitting while she stood. He was no gentleman. Better she learned it now.

Approaching the sideboard, she selected an empty tumbler and studied the bottles. After settling on one, she poured three fingers of rye and gingerly lowered herself into an armchair. She took a sip, made a face and set the glass down. “I thought I was ready for that, but indeed, I’m not. It’s terrible.”

Under any other circumstances he might’ve smiled. While she was adorable, she’d also tricked and lied to him at the behest of her father.

Preston forced his eyes to the floor and struggled to keep his focus. “Well?”

“I went to the French Ball to have fun. Same as you, apparently.”

“Actually, I went to the French Ball to find a woman to screw. Convenient we found one another, wouldn’t you say?”

“Are you implying I did this on purpose?” She blinked, her brows pulling together. “That I knew you were attending and set out to lure you into, what? Some sort of liaison? You already have a mistress. The entire city knows about her, in fact.”

“Mrs. Russell and I have parted ways, not that it matters. And yes, I do believe you did this on purpose.”

“That is absolutely ridiculous. And insulting. Why would I do something so devious?”

“Katherine, we both know the rules of society. Do you not understand what happened last night?”

She blinked at him innocently. A ruse or true confusion? He couldn’t tell. Nothing made sense any longer. “We had fun,” she said. “That was all.”