The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(60)

After a nod, the duke spun and quit the room, and Katherine turned her attention to the lone man frozen in front of the Sisley painting. What had come over Preston tonight? He’d punched someone, right here in a room full of guests. Why?

Unable to stay away any longer, she drifted to his ridiculously tall side. Before she could open her mouth, he said, “It’s quite nice, isn’t it?”

They were talking paintings now? Fine, she could play along. “It is. I adore Sisley’s landscapes. The colors are soothing.”

“I agree. I don’t know anything about this artist or art in general, but I do like this one.”

“I’m glad. It’s part of the same set that I sent for your office.”

“Ah. That must be why I’m drawn to it.”

The few remaining guests were club members, so she felt comfortable disappearing for a moment. “May I speak with you privately?”

“Are you going to yell at me?”

“Most likely.”

Preston folded his hands behind his back. “I seem to like it when you’re cross with me. So, fair warning on being alone together.”

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, though he didn’t notice. “I’ll take my chances. Come with me, bruiser.”



Preston followed Katherine deeper into the club. His hand hurt like a son of a bitch, but that wasn’t what he was thinking about as he watched the sway of her hips as she walked. Instead he remembered holding those hips as he sank into her wetness. And the curve of her bottom as she bent over to remove her shoes. The press of her fingers into his flesh when she found her pleasure.

But she was so much more, he’d discovered. Like how quick she was to smile, and the easy way she laughed. She was real and comfortable with herself, unconcerned if her hair was a bit messy, and she seemed in no hurry to cover up when they lounged in bed naked together.

She usually did most of the talking, but he didn’t mind. He liked to smoke in bed while hearing her go on about art and her travels in Spain. There were fascinating layers to her just waiting to be uncovered. Some man would be lucky indeed to marry this clever creature.

They ended up in an empty office, and Katherine shut the door behind them. She flicked the switch to illuminate the room, which meant he could see her frown. “Have you gone mad?”

He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “I apologize.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she snapped, “That’s it? You’ve nothing more to say?”

Pressing his lips together, he debated on how to proceed. He couldn’t very well tell her what happened. “There’s no excuse for what I did. I can only say that I felt justified in the moment.”

“You felt justified in hitting a man during my event, the most important night of my life?”

“When you put it that way, no. But I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You, Preston Clarke? Not thinking straight? I don’t believe it. What on earth happened to cause such a violent reaction from you?”

“I’m no angel, Kat. I told you I was entirely dishonorable.”

“Not good enough. You owe me an answer about tonight.”

He sighed, wondering how little he could say to explain himself. “The man I hit is an imbecile. I know him from Harvard, and he likes to tell inappropriate jokes and give disgusting commentary. He said something I didn’t care for and I punched him.”

“What did he say?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Preston, I have heard just about every improper word and phrase. I understand that men can lean toward the crude when alone together. What was it? Something about breasts?”

If only. “It doesn’t bear repeating, Kat. Let it go.”

“Why? I’ve never met this man so he couldn’t have been talking about me.” Preston felt his expression slip—a momentary flash of guilt that escaped before he could stop it—but Kat noticed, because of course she did. “He said something about me? What on earth could he have said about me when we’re perfect strangers?”

“I won’t repeat it, but the comment was in poor taste.”

Her astonished expression quickly transformed into a smug sort of happiness, with her eyes sparkling like gems. “You were defending my honor.”

His collar was suddenly too tight, the cloth of his coat pulling against his shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was doing nothing of the sort. It was merely my way of showing him I disapprove of that sort of talk.”

“Hmm.” She stepped closer, her lips twisting in a teasing grin. “And how many men have you pummeled in the name of linguistic disapproval?”

“I couldn’t begin to say,” he lied, fingers twitching with the need to get his hands on her.

“Liar.” Now in front of him, she ran a palm up his chest, pausing directly over his heart. He gripped her hips, hating the layers of cotton and silk that prevented him from feeling her soft skin. As she continued to stare up at him, he couldn’t help but drag the pad of his thumb over her throat and jaw, along her cheekbone. She bit her lip. “How did it feel to hit him?”

“Satisfying.”

She laughed and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you, Preston Clarke?”

“Reward me? There is a desk over there.”