The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(56)

It did, actually. Katherine was quite proud of it. “Your Monet was just the thing I needed. Would you like to see it or the Renoir you loaned me?”

“I’ve seen them both enough,” Nellie said with a wave. “I’d rather catch up with you, since I have a feeling you’ll be bombarded with guests shortly.”

“Here’s hoping.” Katherine held up her glass and they each toasted. Then she blurted, “I slept with Preston Clarke.”

Nellie began sputtering and choking on champagne, her eyes watering. For several seconds, she coughed and wheezed, and Katherine pounded her back twice.

“God, Nellie. I’m sorry,” Katherine said. “Are you all right?”

Her friend held up a hand. “I’m fine.” She drew in a deep breath, then wiped a tear from under her bottom eyelashes. “Lord, you really must give me some warning before you drop news like that.”

“I know. It was awful of me. I just didn’t want to miss the opportunity to tell you before everyone arrived.”

“Forgiven. First, good for you. Second, how was it? Because I’ll have him thrown into the East River in chains if he mistreated you.”

The way Nellie said it did not sound like a jest. “Why do I feel as if you are serious about that?”

Nellie’s smile was positively devious. “Let’s just say I know people.”

“Ah, right. The Hell’s Kitchen branch of the family.” Nellie’s mother had been Irish, and her relatives all lived on the west side of the city. They also ran one of the biggest street gangs on the island. “Anyway, you needn’t worry. Preston’s taken very good care of me each time.”

“Each time? Plural?”

Katherine sipped her champagne and lifted a shoulder. “I’m having fun with him.” The Jane Street apartment had been put to good use the past few nights. She’d eschewed her society commitments, using the art show as cover to come and go as she pleased. Now that the show was almost over, she’d need to be a bit more creative in her excuses.

“Good,” Nellie said. “Whatever you do, don’t develop feelings for him. Being intimate with someone can fool you into thinking there are deeper emotions at play, but men are generally able to separate the two far easier than we can.”

“I won’t develop feelings, I promise. He’s too controlling for me. Too intense.”

Nellie’s eyes narrowed like she didn’t believe that statement. “Many women prefer those types of men.”

“Well, not me. Anyway, to draw suspicion away from us, I invited Lockwood tonight.”

Nellie’s shoulders stiffened slightly. “Needed someone to suck all the joy out of the room, I suppose?”

Katherine couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re too hard on him. He’s a decent man.”

“Decent, sure. I suppose this means Preston is coming, as well.”

“I did invite him. I have no idea if he’s coming or not.”

“Oh, he’ll be here. He’ll want to keep watch over you. Scare off any potential suitors.”

“That’s absurd,” Katherine said. “First, there are no potential suitors, and Preston doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“We shall see, won’t we? Tonight is going to be very interesting, I can already tell.” Nellie glanced at something over Katherine’s shoulder. “Ah, here come your first guests. Time for me to make myself scarce so my presence doesn’t offend the smart set. Good luck, Katie.” Nellie squeezed her arm. “It’s going to be fantastic.”

“You needn’t stand against the wall the entire night,” Katherine said. “You should mingle. You’re my friend and I want you here.”

“I know, and I love you for it. But you’re my friend and I wouldn’t dream of causing gossip. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Nellie drifted away before Katherine could say anything else. Dash it. Katherine hated that society had vilified Nellie. Though her friend pretended not to care, Katherine knew it hurt Nellie deep down.

Then guests began streaming through the entryway, distracting her, and she decided that any worries over her friend would need to wait until later.



He could hear her laughter from across the room, and Preston fought the urge to smile.

Somehow, he’d allowed Katherine to talk him into attending her art show at the Meliora Club. It was increasingly apparent that he had a hard time refusing her anything. From meeting her downtown or inviting him to rub elbows with a bunch of snobs over art, she merely had to ask and he went along eagerly.

Sipping champagne, he studied an impressionist painting and contemplated the affair he and Kat were having. Their couplings were frantic and naughty, seeing as how Kat was busy with the art show. But now that the show had opened he anticipated having her more often and taking his time with her.

He could hardly wait.

“I can’t quite tell if you’re smiling or not,” a feminine voice said at his side.

He looked down at Nellie Young. “Does it matter?”

“No, but anything other than a scowl looks odd on your face. Is it this painting?” She paused. “Or perhaps something—or someone—else?”

“It’s refreshing to discover you are every bit as forward as the rumors say.”