The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(24)

“No,” he said instantly. “I honestly didn’t know who you were. If I had, I would’ve avoided you. My quarrel is with your father, not with you. I’m dishonorable, yes, but I’m not a monster.”

She believed him. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Good. Rest assured I won’t breathe a word about this to anyone—and I suggest you keep it quiet, as well.”

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t be the one who tells.”

Implying she would? God, he was delusional. “I cannot believe I ever found you the least bit attractive.” She lunged for the doorknob. “This was a huge mistake.”

As she slammed the door behind her, she heard him say, “That is an understatement.”





Chapter Eight




Katherine never thought she’d pity a duke, but seeing the Asher twins accost the Duke of Lockwood tonight was too horrifying to ignore. Lily and Millie Asher were terrors in silk and lace, following the duke around and interrupting any conversation he dared to start with anyone else. How Lockwood hadn’t run screaming from the room was a miracle in itself.

She and Lockwood had met in June, at Maddie Webster’s house party in Newport. She’d found him polite and decent, and certainly easy on the eyes. He was classically handsome, as if he’d stepped out of an advert for evening wear. His posture was impeccable, and he had a wealth of pride and confidence in his bright blue steady gaze.

Right now, Lily and Millie took turns shoving each other out of the way to get Lockwood’s attention, and he was glancing around, looking helpless and uncomfortable. Katherine could not leave him to suffer.

Besides, it was a good distraction from her own problems, which included far too much brooding over Preston Clarke and what happened at Jane Street three nights ago.

She approached the trio, then pretended to trip and bump into Lockwood, spilling a bit of her champagne on his sleeve. She straightened and tried to appear appropriately apologetic. “Oh, Your Grace, I beg your pardon. I’m so clumsy.”

Millie and Lily stared in horror at the duke’s wet sleeve, aghast at the faux pas, which gave Katherine the chance to wink at Lockwood. He relaxed and gave her a private smile.

“Miss Delafield,” Millie whispered. “You’ve ruined the duke’s evening suit.”

Nonsense. A little bit of champagne wouldn’t hurt the fabric. Still, Katherine kept up the pretense. “Your Grace, I must escort you to the retiring rooms straightaway. The stain must be dealt with promptly.”

“Thank you, Miss Delafield,” he drawled in his proper Mayfair accent. “I would be grateful. Excuse me, ladies.”

The Asher twins promised to find him later as Katherine took his arm and quickly led him away. “I apologize, but you looked miserable. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“I owe you a debt of gratitude,” he said as they threaded through the crowd. “I’ve been trying to shake those two for the better part of an hour.”

“I could tell. They can be overwhelming at the best of times.” She gestured to the door near the back. “The retiring rooms are there, if you’d care to clean your coat.”

“My coat is fine. I’d rather escape the room for a moment, if you’re amenable.”

“How about the card room? Most of the mothers and unmarried ladies avoid it.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

They drifted toward the corridor and into the card room, where a dozen or so men were sitting around tables. “See? Not a woman in sight.”

“You are a genius.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This never gets easier.”

“The hunt for a bride? No doubt you’re besieged.”

“Yes, well. The title and all that. I imagine it’s the same for you, besieged by suitors.”

“Not really. It’s almost my second season, so I’m no longer new and shiny. Instead, everyone’s wondering what’s wrong with me.”

Understanding lit his blue gaze. “Considering I’ve courted two ladies who ended up with other men, I’m fairly certain they’re wondering the same about me.”

“We are a pair, then. No wonder we’re both avoiding the crowd and hiding out in the card room.”

He leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “Is it wrong if we stand here for the rest of the night?”

“Not in my opinion.” She smiled up at him. Part of her wanted to mention the French Ball, confess how she’d seen him there, but that would mean admitting her own presence at the scandalous event. Instead, she held up her hand in promise. “I swear to protect you from any wandering debutantes with ducal aspirations in their eyes.”

“Thank you. And who or what am I protecting you from?”

“Boredom?”

He laughed, drawing the attention of several card players. “I don’t believe that for a moment. You don’t strike me as a woman who sits around and waits for excitement to find her.”

Actually, I did sit around and wait. For one whole year.

“I’m not, at least not any longer. It’s harder for unmarried ladies, though. You gents get to have all the fun.”

“Yes, fun,” he said, his tone implying the opposite as he swiped two coupes of champagne off a passing tray. “I am relieved to see a friendly face tonight, though.”