The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(75)

She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. She had to come first. Know your worth. How had she forgotten?

Though it sounded weak and unsure, she got the single word out: “No.”

“Kat, sweetheart. Mon chaton. You’re killing me. I . . . I have this boulder sitting on my chest and I can’t eat or sleep. I can’t even work. I’m terrified that I’ve ruined things between us, that you’ll never speak to me again. Just let me see you.”

Lured by the genuine emotion in his voice, she took one step toward the door. Then she caught herself. What was she doing? Running off to make him feel better? He should be making her feel better.

Straightening her spine, she focused on the wooden grooves running along the front door. The truth of how deeply he’d hurt her burned her tongue and she swallowed it out of habit. But maybe this was what they needed, a dose of total honesty between them. It would undoubtedly cause him to go running back to the city, back to his carefully ordered life of work and mistresses.

He would finally leave her alone.

“You have ruined things between us,” she said quietly. “You broke my heart, Preston. That can’t be repaired with a few apologies and endearments. I was in love with you, and you broke my heart. It can’t be repaired.”

The silence coming from the other side of the door was telling.

She’d clearly shocked him. Horrified him. He was probably pulling out a railroad timetable at this very minute to research the next train back to the city.

That was that. At least she didn’t have to worry about Preston bothering her any longer.

So, why did that hurt so badly?

It should’ve come as a relief. But as she heard his footsteps retreating from the porch and going down the steps, away from the lodge, tears began tracking down her face. Relief didn’t factor into it at all.



The gifts began arriving the next day.

They weren’t traditional gifts, not the kind usually given in their world. These weren’t bracelets from Mr. Tiffany or Cartier diamonds, fancy flower bouquets or expensive Worth gowns.

No, they were simple tokens from a man who clearly had no idea how to fix what he’d broken, but was determined to try all the same.

In the afternoon, Katherine found a bunch of freshly picked apples outside the door. A cinnamon sugar breakfast roll the next morning. For dinner, broiled fish in lemon sauce.

She didn’t know what to make of it. Wasn’t he horrified by her revelation? Repulsed that one of his lovers—the daughter of a man he hated—had developed feelings for him, just as his last mistress had? She couldn’t believe he hadn’t gone straight back to the city, to his fancy office and towering projects.

Why was he still here?

She tried not to care or think about him, but it was impossible when he visited every day and kept leaving things outside the door. Against all reason, she found herself eagerly listening for his footsteps on the porch, then running out after he departed to see what was waiting for her.

Her favorite gift so far was the small acorn he’d whittled out of wood. It was far from perfect, but she loved the effort he’d put into the token. She placed it on her bedside table and stared at it in the dark. Could she forgive him?

She wasn’t sure.

At least Preston’s appearance had distracted her from Daddy’s engagement to Mrs. Whittier. It still hurt to know her father was moving on, but the sting wasn’t quite so fresh. And yes, she could admit it wasn’t fair to expect her father to remain alone for the rest of his life. She just hadn’t thought it would happen so soon or that he would keep it from her.

She always assumed she’d be happily married, building her own family, when her father decided to take another wife. Which sounded selfish. And small. So, perhaps her issues with his remarriage had more to do with the uncertainty in Katherine’s life?

Was it true?

There was one person she could ask.

Sighing, she tore off another piece of blueberry muffin, a gift from Preston this morning, and stared out at the water. His lodge sat on the other side of the lake, and she wondered how he was spending his days. Probably working. Mrs. Cohen, the poor woman, was likely going back and forth from the city, carrying mounds of paperwork for Preston.

Would it hurt to walk over and see him for a few minutes?

If she did, perhaps then he’d realize she meant what she said the other day. That he’d broken her heart and it couldn’t be mended. Then he’d leave and return to the city.

Yes, that was what she’d do. She’d go to his lodge, ask him about her father, then tell him he was wasting his time and order him back to the city.

Carrying a big stick to ward off bear attacks, she started for Preston’s lodge. The walk took longer than expected, but it was pleasant, with the occasional squirrel and chipmunk darting across her path. She even saw a family of beavers.

When she was almost to Preston’s lodge, the skies darkened. All at once, the heavens seemed to open up and dump rain on top of her.

With a squeak, she began running as best she could in the direction of his lodge. It was a struggle in wet skirts and sodden shoes, especially when the path turned slick, and she lost her balance twice. Now she was freezing, covered in mud and looking like a bedraggled mess.

This will really scare Preston away.

Finally his large wooden cabin came into view. Gasping for breath, she hurried toward the steps. Lights blazed from inside, smoke curling out of several chimneys. The devil could’ve been waiting inside and she would willingly sell her soul to stand next to one of those fires.