The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(44)

Katherine knew this well. Nellie was not a gossip. “He’s very . . . forceful. But playful, too.”

“Preston Clarke, playful? I don’t believe it.”

“No, he is,” Katherine said. “We have this thing we do where we—”

“Stop,” Nellie interrupted. “I changed my mind. I don’t want details.”

Katherine chuckled. “It’s your loss. They’re very good details.”

“I’m sure, my dear, but I may have to face that man again someday and I need to be able to keep a straight face. Just tell me, have you slept with him yet?”

“No, and I’m not certain there is a ‘yet.’”

Nellie made a disbelieving sound in her throat. “I know Preston and you’re obviously gorgeous and fun. A little ray of sunshine in his dreary life. He will try to get under your skirts again.”

Katherine wasn’t so certain. Three days had passed since the carriage and not a word from Preston. “Even if he tries, I might not let him.”

“True, but based on what you’ve said, I think you will. Which means we need to discuss practicalities.”

“We had that talk already,” Katherine reminded her. “After the ball, remember?”

“I’m not talking about disease and contraception, but I’m glad you haven’t forgotten. Who knows where that man has been? For God’s sake, make sure he uses a shield.” Nellie finished her cake. “No, I mean your feelings. Keeping yourself from falling in love with him.”

Katherine took a cookie off the tray. “There’s absolutely no chance of that. He hates my family and has no interest in marriage. Not to mention he had his chance, and I’m not keen to give him another.”

“Katie,” Nellie said on a sigh. “Sometimes our feelings don’t care about who is right for us, or who is interested in marrying us. The heart has a mind of its own, you know?”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“This is about you at the moment. When are you supposed to see him next?”

“We have no plans.”

“Hmm. For two planner-types of people, you are both hopeless.”

“Maybe he’s changed his mind about us. He did try and put me off in the carriage at first. I wonder if Mr. Ward said something.”

“You can bet Kit tried, but something tells me Preston does as he wishes. He’s not one to let another control him.”

No, he’d much rather do the controlling, a trait Katherine didn’t mind when it came to their games. “Perhaps I should send him a note.”

Nellie considered this as she chewed on a macaron. “I think you’re better off letting him come after you. Preston seems like the type to get off on the chase, like one of his property developments.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will. Based on how he acted in the coat closet and the carriage, Preston won’t be satisfied until he’s had you. The question is, are you willing to let him?”



Preston was in the midst of reviewing a contract when his office door opened. “Two things have arrived for you,” Mrs. Cohen said.

Without looking up, he said, “Oh?”

“Yes. One is your lawyer. He’s waiting out front.”

Preston’s lawyers had been reviewing the paperwork on the Twenty-Third Street property. A decision must have been made. Preston put down his pen, stood and reached for his coat. “Excellent. Does it look like he’s carrying good news?”

She straightened her spectacles, and he could see a hint of amusement on her face, like she held a secret. “All lawyers look the same to me, so I couldn’t say. However, in my experience, they never bring good news.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

“I have plenty of faith. Just not with lawyers.”

When she didn’t move, he prompted, “You may show him in now.”

“Don’t you want to hear about the second thing that’s arrived?”

Rarely had Mrs. Cohen appeared so animated. Curious, he said, “Yes, if it moves things along.”

“Miss Delafield has sent you a gift.”

Preston blinked, positive he hadn’t heard correctly. “A gift?” No one sent him gifts. He’d given plenty, mostly to mistresses, but he couldn’t remember the last time he was on the receiving end.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since their afternoon in the carriage. The sight of her pleasuring herself was burned into his brain for all eternity, the memory his favorite new masturbatory fantasy. She made everything so easy, so fun. He’d promised to leave her alone, though, and he was going to stick to that promise, even if it killed him.

“Yes, a gift,” Mrs. Cohen said. “A thing one person gives to another person to show their regard.”

“I know what a gift is,” he said dryly. “What is it?”

“Paintings.”

A thread of warmth pulled through his chest, like a string tightly wrapped around one’s finger. He hadn’t experienced this simple excitement in a long time, the flattery that someone cared enough to pick something out for him.

What had she sent?

“Where are they?” he asked, already on his way out the door. “By your desk?”