The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(62)

“Please,” Preston said. “Give us the tour.”

While he didn’t offer Kat his arm, he did stick close to her side as they started through the exhibit. The mood in the room was tense, but she stopped by each painting and explained a little about the work, as well as the artist. Though he knew she was knowledgeable when it came to art, the depth of her understanding and her passion for the subject surprised him. It was like watching a surgeon explain a complicated procedure, or an architect describe their design. He found himself fascinated listening to her, even asking a few questions to keep her talking.

When they reached the Sisley landscape that had been his favorite, she added more insight about the color and lighting choices that made Preston appreciate the piece even more. But when they stopped at a Renoir painting, Kat came alive. It was of a couple near a river, and her love of the impressionist work came through as she detailed the scene and why the style was important to the modern art movement as they entered the twentieth century.

Head swiveling, Lloyd took in the entire space. “The collection is impressive, Katherine. It must’ve taken quite a bit of work.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes reflected her conflicted emotions. “What you see is a combination of Mama’s paintings and loans from both families I know and members of the Meliora Club.”

“Including this one?” Preston tilted his chin toward the Renoir.

“This painting belongs to Mr. Young, Nellie’s father.”

Ah, that made sense. Cornelius Young had more money than God and he was known as an avid collector of all things.

“I think the entire exhibit is lovely. You should be very proud,” Mrs. Whittier said to Kat, who just pressed her lips tight and nodded.

“Katherine,” Lloyd chastised in a low disapproving tone.

Preston opened his mouth to intervene—to tell Lloyd to fuck off—but Kat reacted first. She smiled but the warmth did not reach her eyes. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s kind of you to say.”

Lloyd patted Mrs. Whittier’s hand where it rested on his arm and addressed their small group. “Katherine, would you care to join Rebecca and I for dinner? We could get to know each other better.”

She didn’t move or blink, seemingly frozen in horror at the suggestion, so Preston spoke up. “What say you, Miss Delafield? Too tired for dinner?”

Kat latched on to the excuse with enthusiasm. “Yes, much too tired. Thank you for offering, Daddy.”

“Another time, then,” Lloyd said before moving in to kiss Katherine’s cheek. “I knew tonight was important to you, sweetheart. I didn’t want to miss it. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered. “I’m glad you came.”

Lloyd returned to Mrs. Whittier’s side, taking her arm once more. “We should be off. We have reservations at Sherry’s. Are you walking out, Katherine?”

“You go on ahead,” Preston said quickly. “I’ll see Miss Delafield into a hansom. They’re not easy to find in this neighborhood.”

“Appreciate it,” Lloyd said. “I don’t want her on the street alone after dark. It’s hardly safe.”

They all exchanged goodbyes, and the older couple left. Preston regarded Kat carefully. “Reinette,” he said softly when she didn’t so much as move. “What can I do?”

Her troubled gaze met his, and more than a little desperation swirled in the golden brown depths. “Take me downtown and make me forget.”





Chapter Nineteen




They stumbled into the Jane Street apartment, already tearing at each other’s clothes. A trail of discarded garments lay on the floor in their haste to the bedroom. Katherine felt as though she were being smothered, constricted, the fabric an impediment to getting necessary relief. She needed to feel his bare skin, as well.

Each time with Preston was frantic, a mindless animalistic coupling. She loved it, from the way he kissed her like she was the air he needed to breathe, to how he growled her name when he found his peak. And she liked cuddling with him after. They did a lot of talking and she discovered he was even smarter than she’d assumed. He had a way of diving straight to the heart of an issue instead of dancing around it, offering clarity and sound advice.

It was making their association . . . problematic.

She didn’t want to develop feelings for him. Yet, she couldn’t seem to help herself.

Not after the way he’d saved her tonight.

He could have easily left, walked out the front door of the Meliora Club and never faced her father. Yet, he hadn’t. When she asked him about it afterward, he only said, “I couldn’t leave you there alone.”

Perhaps he was starting to like her in return. Which made this entirely more complicated.

But those were worries for another night, because he was kissing his way down her body, toward her sex. She squirmed, beyond ready. Her body was trembling with need, unable to withstand any teasing. “Preston, please. I want you now.”

“Fuck, I can’t wait, either. Put the shield on me.”

He liked to have her roll the rubber down his shaft, probably because of the way she usually dragged it out, teasing him, but this time she was in too much of a hurry. Within seconds she had him sheathed, and he pushed up on his arms, spread her thighs with his knees and entered her in one thrust.