The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(90)

All the breath left her lungs in a rush. “What is happening?”

Preston advanced, closing the distance between them. “Hello.” The dying afternoon light cast a soft glow on his features, and he offered her a small smile. Was there insecurity lurking in his dark eyes?

“What is this?”

“You said you needed more than I was prepared to give. But, Kat, I’m willing to give you everything you want, everything I have. Anything to get you to stay with me forever.”

Forever? Her gaze darted around the room. “I don’t understand.”

Then the pieces began to slide into place. The orange blossoms, the harpist. The way he was dressed.

It was everything she’d once imagined for their wedding.

She sucked in a breath and blinked up at him. “My journal.”

Preston reached into his pocket and withdrew the book where she’d written all of her wedding ideas. His voice was low, but laced with intensity. “If you marry me, reinette, I will always put you first. I’ll dedicate my life to making you happy each day.”

It was almost everything she’d hoped for, but didn’t he realize that nothing had changed? “Preston, you won’t feel that way in a year or two. You’ll be back to your projects and long hours. Your need to win at all costs.”

“I promise, I won’t. Your father and I are merging our companies again.”

The room seemed to pause, the air growing thinner as her brain slowly caught up. “You and Daddy are . . . ?” She shook her head. That made no sense. “You must be joking.”

“I told you, nothing matters more to me than you. Your father may not be my favorite person, but he knows our business well. We can form one large company and share the responsibilities.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips. “You and my father, co-owning Clarke Holdings?”

“Clarke-Delafield Holdings, but yes.” He moved closer, until she could smell the sandalwood and leather, the heat from his body causing bumps to race over her skin. “I don’t want to work this hard. I want to travel with you, spend time with you. Play games and raise a family. I want to love you and be loved in return. There is more to life than office towers and apartment buildings, but only if you’re by my side.”

Slowly, he lowered to one knee, almost as if giving her a chance to stop him. Then he held out a blue box she recognized from Mr. Tiffany’s store and opened it. A huge diamond—emerald cut, just as she’d drawn in her journal—winked up at her. “Katherine, will you do me the great honor—”

Bending slightly, she cut him off with a kiss. She didn’t care if there were people in the room or that it wasn’t proper. They’d ignored propriety from the beginning, so why start now?

His lips were warm and soft, and every bit as demanding as she remembered. God, she’d missed kissing him. This was like air and food and water all rolled into one, and she would never get enough of this man. Not breaking off from her mouth, he rose and held her face in his big palms, his tongue stroking over hers again and again. The faint strains of a harp filled her ears as Preston overwhelmed her other senses, his mouth her only anchor.

When they parted, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Does this mean yes?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “But I may want a smaller, not-so-lavish wedding. One we can plan faster.”

“I won’t argue about that.”

She patted his lapel, then stepped away. There was something else she wanted right now, and they didn’t need an audience for it.

Within a few minutes, she’d thanked everyone and sent them away, leaving just her and Preston surrounded by flickering candles and orange blossoms. She picked up one of the flowers and held it to her nose. “You are very resourceful, Mr. Clarke. I never would’ve taken you for a romantic at heart.”

“Only when it comes to you, apparently. I love you madly, Kat.”

“I love you, too.” She gave him a small teasing smile and dragged the blossom along his jaw. “My king.”

Heat flared in his eyes at her words and a large hand settled on her hip to bring her closer. “Is my reinette in need of servicing?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him feel the length of her body against his. “Desperately.”

Walking backward, he began leading her toward the door. “We must take care of that, then. Come along. I’ve been eager to see you in my bed for weeks.”

Grinning, she trailed him to his chambers, already compiling a list in her head of all the ways they would service each other today . . . and every day thereafter.





Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue





Brooklyn, 1898



The crowd was twice what they’d expected.

Katherine stared out at the faces, the hundreds of people who were here for the opening of the Brooklyn Modern Art Museum. Nerves bubbled in her stomach. Would they love the art she’d carefully chosen? Enough to travel across the river regularly?

The idea was risky. But, as her husband liked to say, the most successful projects all started off as someone’s wild idea.

Speaking of Preston, her eyes drifted toward where he stood, tall and commanding near the side of the dais. Kit and Alice were there, as well, along with Maddie and Harrison. Her friends were smiling proudly at Katherine, while Preston cuddled the newest arrival to their little group against his broad chest. Though she wasn’t yet six months old, Elizabeth Victoria Clarke went everywhere with her father. Even Brooklyn.