The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(66)

Perhaps he could draw a few ideas for Katherine. Then he could give them to her along with the deed. He liked the thought of doing this together, the two of them looking over plans and making decisions on ornaments and fixtures, materials and costs.

The fire had scorched the earth, leaving black rubble and ash behind. Preston stepped in and kicked a burnt piece of wood, while Kit hovered on the walk, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not ruining my shoes to follow you around. I’ll wait here.”

“Jesus, you’re becoming cranky in your old age,” Preston said.

“Go to hell. I’m the same age as you—and hurry up. Some of us have wives waiting.”

Preston shook his head and began walking, not caring if he ruined his shoes. Before he wrote the check, he wanted to make sure this plot was perfect for Katherine. This was the part about developing real estate that he loved. The thrill of possibility and new beginnings. Crafting beauty out of destruction, and reimagining the city for centuries to come.

As he walked, he felt it deep in his bones. This was a good spot for a large building, one with soaring Roman columns and wide marble stairs. He would buy the land and gift it to Katherine when he broke the news about the ruling. A shame her original idea for the Twenty-Third Street location hadn’t worked out, but that plot had never been hers to begin with.

She would understand.

He met back up with Kit. As they strolled toward the carriage, Kit unwrapped a piece of candy and popped it into his mouth. “So, are you in love with her, or . . . ?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Preston snapped.

“I see. You are in love with her.”

“Didn’t I just say I definitely was not in love with her?”

“No, you bit my head off for suggesting it. You know what Shakespeare said about protesting too much, my friend.”

Preston sighed dramatically. “I’m beginning to regret bringing you along today.”

“Well, genius, I tried to escape seventy blocks ago. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

“How is your wife?”

“Wonderful, but don’t change the subject. I want to know about Miss Delafield and what you are planning to do about the betrothal. If you’re asking my opinion—”

“Which I’m not.”

“—I think you should marry her.”

A grimace tugged at Preston’s mouth. “I cannot think of a greater humiliation than going to Lloyd Delafield and telling him I want to marry Katherine. Can you imagine his glee? I’d rather swallow arsenic.”

“Are you willing to lose her over your pride? Come on, Preston. You aren’t getting any younger, and Katherine certainly won’t wait forever.”

Kit was wrong—she didn’t want to marry Preston. That had been made perfectly clear.

Then there was the matter of everything else. His company came first, long before any personal relationship. More than fifty employees relied on him, not to mention the shareholders he answered to, so he couldn’t let them down. “It’s more than pride and Lloyd. The company isn’t exactly a sparkling clean, noble venture. It’s . . .”

“I get it. Bribes, grift and blackmail.” Kit opened the carriage door. “Isn’t it fairly well accepted that any successful business of your kind deals in these gray areas? But if you think anyone will judge you for it, surely you’ve come far enough that you don’t need those things any longer. Saving the business after your father? Fine. But not now.”

“It is a necessary part of the game, and everyone knows that.” If Preston wasn’t willing to play by the rules—dishonest as they were—he might as well close up shop.

“But her father does the exact same thing. She’s likely more familiar with your world than you suspect.”

Sweet and idealistic Katherine, aware of the crooked and illicit nature of developing the city? No, Lloyd would’ve sheltered her from it at all costs. “Leave it alone, Kit. I know what I’m doing.”

“All right, but I think you’re making a mistake.”

“Duly noted, and let’s not discuss it again.”

Kit sighed as he stared out the window. “Fine, but I look forward to telling you ‘I told you so’ one of these days.”





Chapter Twenty




Standing on the corner of Twenty-Third Street, Katherine nearly bounced in excitement. The Duke of Lockwood slid her a glance from under the brim of his derby. “You remind me of a rabbit, about to hop away at any moment.”

“I can’t help it. I’m both nervous and excited. Do you think she’ll take on the project?”

As promised, Lockwood had reached out to Mrs. Phillip Mansfield, New York’s only female architect, to meet with Katherine. He’d come along to make the introduction, for which Katherine was grateful. “I have no idea,” he said. “I’d say it depends on her schedule at the moment. She’s just had another child this spring.”

“Well, I hope she makes time for me. I’d hate to deal with another male architect any time soon.”

“Understandable. Ah, there she is.” Lockwood started toward an auburn-haired woman in a smart green jacket and skirt. The duke bent to kiss her cheek. “Lady Eva.”