The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(46)

Preston steepled his fingers and studied the other man. Strong’s firm had worked for the Clarkes for ages, and Preston now questioned the wisdom of trusting this to them. After all, hadn’t Strong and his cronies watched as Henry Clarke destroyed himself and nearly destroyed his family? Where were they six years ago when Preston had been mired in a mountain of debt and trying to piece together a crumbling empire?

And Lloyd Delafield had used Strong’s firm, too, before the joint business was dissolved.

Preston felt like a fool. Hadn’t he learned ages ago not to trust anyone? Nothing would stop Lloyd Delafield from getting what he wanted—even if it meant breaking the law. After all, they were cut from the same cloth. Bribing Strong or forging documents would’ve been too easy.

There had to be another way. Preston was not about to give up on that property. By rights, it was his and the Manhattan Surety project was already underway.

“Whose side are you on here, Strong? I’m the one paying your fee.”

“Which isn’t enough to risk getting disbarred.”

“Then I’ll hire another lawyer, one who isn’t so shortsighted.”

“You are welcome to do so, of course,” Strong said, rising. A flush worked its way above his collar. “But good luck finding one who is both talented and willing to risk his career for you.”

Preston clenched his jaw. There had to be a clever lawyer in this corrupt cesspool of a city who was willing to make a quick buck. “We’ll see about that. You’re fired. Send your bill to Mrs. Cohen.”

The lawyer left and Preston turned to the new paintings. His shoulders relaxed a tiny fraction, logic returning to replace the anger. He merely needed to think a bit more, find a way around this dilemma. Quickly.

But he had faith in himself, in his abilities. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to beat Lloyd on this.

Absolutely nothing.





Chapter Fourteen




The Duke of Lockwood handed Katherine up into the open-air carriage for their late-afternoon drive in the park. He settled next to her in a well-tailored navy suit, looking poised and graceful, comfortable in his own athletic skin. There was no pretense with him, and he was quite personable and funny. Little wonder why the ladies of Fifth Avenue were so taken with him.

She folded her hands on her lap. “Thank you for agreeing to do this. I’ve needed a break all week.”

A break from her own thoughts. She’d begun to miss Preston, going as far as to send him gifts for his office. It was clear she’d lost her mind, especially considering she hadn’t heard a word from him since their carriage ride. Were the paintings just a pathetic attempt at getting his attention once more? Why had she signed the card “yours”?

Did she want to belong to him?

No, she couldn’t. Her pride wouldn’t allow it. He hadn’t wanted her—still didn’t want her. This was merely light and fun, nothing more. A bit of cavorting until she felt ready to settle down.

“It’s my pleasure,” Lockwood said graciously as he smoothed his perfectly creased trousers.

Forgetting Preston for the time being, Katherine studied the hard edge of Lockwood’s sculpted jaw. Why couldn’t she have been attracted to the duke instead? He was available, interested in marriage, and a decent person. Everything would have been much simpler.

During the drive south to the park, they discussed the mild weather and the latest society gossip. As they turned onto Seventy-Ninth Street, she asked, “And how have you been since I last saw you? Busy wooing debutantes, I suppose.”

He grimaced. “A bit, yes.”

“I sense it’s not going well.”

“It’s exhausting, to be honest. As well, I’ll need to travel home soon to deal with some issues with the estate.”

He didn’t sound thrilled by his prospects. “Why don’t I help you? Tell me who you’ve been eyeing and I’ll guide you in the right direction.”

“Are you certain? I’d hate to come across as cavalier, but I would like any insight you may provide. These aren’t families with whom I’m acquainted.”

“I would love to, Your Grace. Give me a name.”

They entered the park, which was crowded thanks to the mild weather. She nodded to some acquaintances while she awaited his answer.

He asked, “Have you met Miss Beatrice Bend?”

Of course she had. Beatrice was a year younger than Katherine, and a member of prominent society. Beatrice had given Katherine a list of places to visit in Spain last year. “I know her well. She does like to travel, though. Not fond of staying in one place for too long.”

“Hmm.”

Lockwood’s fingers tapped on his knee, and Katherine had to think a duchess with wanderlust wasn’t ideal. He asked, “What about Miss Edith Bishop?”

“Dedicated to her various causes and marches. There have been some rumors about socialism.”

Lockwood nodded. “I see. I’m not certain I want a political duchess.”

“Who else?”

“Perhaps we are going about this the wrong way,” Lockwood said. “Why don’t you offer up some suggestions on who might make a suitable match?”

“That’s a good idea, but I’ll need to think on it. Tell me what you’re looking for in a duchess.”