The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(61)

“Oh, no. Not here. Besides I need to wrap up the end of the evening.”

Bending, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, letting their lips linger as they exchanged breath. “Most everyone has departed and the paintings aren’t going anywhere. Come downtown with me.”

He trailed his mouth along her jaw, to the sensitive spot behind her ear. She loved it when he dragged his teeth over that one place, which he did now. She gave a full-body shiver. “You know I can’t, not yet. I need another half an hour, at least.”

“I’ll wait for you. Then we can—”

A knock interrupted. “Miss Delafield, are you in there?”

Katherine paused, her palms putting some distance between their bodies as she addressed whoever was on the other side of the door. “George, is that you?”

“It is, miss. Your father is here and asking to see you.”

Startled, Preston looked at Kat, who’d gone pale. “Tell him I’ll be right there,” she said. “I’m just finishing with some tallies in here.”

“Very good, miss.”

They heard footsteps depart and Preston grinned. “Tallies?”

“I never think quickly on my feet.” She started tugging him toward the exit. “Hurry, you have to leave out the back.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you hear what George said? My father is here. We can’t saunter in together. Everyone will think we’ve been in here doing something naughty.”

“But we haven’t been doing anything naughty and I’m a grown man. I won’t skulk out a back entrance.”

“Then sneak out the front.” She opened the door. “We can’t let him catch us together.”

“Fine, but for the record I don’t care if he catches us together.”

“Right, because you won’t marry me, even if he tries to force you,” she whispered as they left. “You get all the advantages of a liaison and none of the repercussions. But there are repercussions for me if we’re caught. Now, go.”

He paused in the corridor to tell her of his plan. “Walk in and greet your father. While you have him distracted, I’ll go out the front.”

“Yes, fine. Just don’t let him see you.”

“I won’t.” She started to turn, but he clasped her hand to stop her. “Excellent show this evening, reinette. You did something tremendous out there. Congratulations.”

Twin spots of color stained her cheeks and her body relaxed. “Thank you, my king. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Before he could ask exactly when, she pulled away and headed toward the salon. He waited a moment and then followed, silently. Kat should be leading Lloyd into the salon to view the art, but Preston listened to make sure they weren’t still near the entrance.

When he couldn’t hear voices, he kept walking. As he passed the salon, he couldn’t resist peeking inside, just to ensure that Lloyd wasn’t facing the door.

Preston stopped in his tracks at the scene. Lloyd hadn’t come alone. He’d brought an older woman with him.

This must be Mrs. Whittier, Lloyd’s new love and the deceased Mrs. Delafield’s close friend. Preston immediately looked to Kat, who stood stock-still, her arms wrapped around her middle, her face alarmingly pale. In fact, she appeared one second away from vomiting on the floor.

He cast a quick glance at the front door and debated what to do. The smart thing would be to leave and let Kat deal with this on her own. His stomach twisted at the idea. She was in hell, facing her worst nightmare on the most important night of her life. How could Lloyd do something this cruel?

It was unconscionable, and Preston hated seeing Kat so unhappy.

He was strolling into the room before he could think better of it. “Miss Delafield,” he called out. “I apologize for my tardiness. Have I missed the exhibition?”

Everyone turned his way, and Kat’s mouth fell open.

Delafield extended a hand toward Preston at his approach. “Evening, Clarke. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Preston ignored the other man’s hand and bowed over Katherine’s instead. “Good evening. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Hello, Mr. Clarke,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Clarke,” Delafield said, “do you know Mrs. Whittier?”

The poor woman looked uncomfortable, clearly walking into a situation for which she hadn’t been properly prepared, and Preston decided she needn’t suffer for Delafield’s thoughtlessness.

He offered a polite bow as he took her hand. “How do you do?”

Her gaze filled with what he suspected might be relief. “Mr. Clarke. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Preston could only imagine. “Don’t believe any of it,” he said, then faced Kat. Her face had regained a bit of its usual color. “Miss Delafield, I trust you are well.”

She licked her lips. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Clarke. You must be eager to learn more about modern art.”

“I am, indeed. I normally focus on only the outsides of my buildings, but I’ve recently learned beauty can be found inside, as well.”

“So true,” she said, though her voice came out like her throat was filled with gravel. “Shall we look around?”