The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(92)
“Stop. You’re supposed to be a respectable family man now.”
He leaned down and put his lips closer to her ear. “Reinette, I’ll never be respectable when it comes to you.”
“And thank God for that,” she murmured, leaning against him for the briefest of moments. “I should go. They’re waiting.”
“I love you. Go, bask in your deserved glory. Lizzy and I will rest up and await your return home.”
He kissed her forehead, right there in public, then strode toward their carriage. She sighed as she watched his broad shoulders shift as he descended the steps. Would she ever tire of looking at him?
Perhaps Mr. Sargent should paint Preston, as well.
“Katie, stop mooning after the man and come on,” Nellie called. “There’s an entire museum to tour.”
Katherine smothered a smile and tried to appear professional as she turned around. “If you’ll both follow me, I’ll show you around the collections inside . . .”
Acknowledgments
Okay, let’s get the historical facts out of the way first because, let’s face it, that’s probably why you’re reading the acknowledgements. I’ll keep them brief.
The French Ball was a real Gilded Age event that took place each year in New York City, exactly as I’ve described here. Thousands of people, drunken revelry, indecency every which way one turned. (Sounds like fun!) It was first held at the Academy of Music, then moved to Madison Square Garden. I had to work this event into a book eventually, right?
The Twenty-Third Street location Preston knew would become so important? That is now the home of the iconic Flatiron Building (originally named the Fuller Building). Erected in 1902, the Flatiron was the first skyscraper north of 14th Street. It was never one of the world’s tallest buildings, just the coolest.
The Meliora Club is based on a real NYC private social club for women, the Cosmopolitan Club, which is still open to this day. (I’m ready to be an honorary member!) Abby Aldrich did in fact marry John Rockefeller Jr. and went on to found both the Cosmopolitan Club and the Museum of Modern Art in NYC.
The Adirondacks, especially Lake George, was the place where the Gilded Age upper class went “rustic.” Many of the families had big lodges or camps up there, and a lot of them can still be visited today.
Now for the writer stuff. This story really was a beast. It took me a long time to figure out who these two crazy kids were going to be, and I couldn’t have done it without the help of Tessa Woodward, editor extraordinaire. We spent a lot of time brainstorming on the characters and the plot. I’m always grateful for her guidance and support.
Diana Quincy read this book three or four times and never complained. I’m so thankful for her friendship and assistance in general, but she really put in overtime on this one! I owe her big time.
Thank you to the romance reviewers, bloggers and Instagrammers who make this crazy effort worthwhile. If my books have offered even one person an escape for a minute or two, then I’ve done my job.
Much love to the other authors in my life that keep me sane. There are too many to name here, but they know who they are, and I’m incredibly grateful for their friendship, support and crazy text-threads.
Thank you to the entire team at HarperCollins/Avon who works on my books: Julie Paulauski, Sam Glatt, Alivia Lopez, DJ DeSmyter, Erika Tsang, and everyone else behind the scenes. But I have to give a special shout-out to the cover team, Guido Caroti and Anna Kmet, who have gifted me with such breathtaking covers for this series.
And lastly, I’m so lucky to have such a supportive family behind me. Thanks to my husband (who also helped with this book when I desperately needed it!) and my daughters for putting up with me. Sorry about my perpetual disappearing act.
(And, if you’ve read this far, dear reader . . . know that I have a wild ride in store for your girl Nellie coming up very soon. Read on!)
Announcement
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the fourth book in the Fifth Avenue Rebels series
The Duke Gets Even
Coming soon from Avon Books!
Teaser
“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.”
—Jacques-Yves Cousteau
Off the coast of Newport, Rhode Island
June, 1895
Mermaids existed.
At least Andrew Talbot, the eighth Duke of Lockwood, was fairly certain of it. At the moment, a creature with long limbs and red hair was most definitely splashing in the frothy waves near the beach. If not a mermaid, then a naiad, perhaps.
Though he hated the ocean, he’d come out here after dark to swim in the chilly, murky water of the Atlantic, his body requiring the bloody exercise. He hadn’t expected to see anyone else. Who was out frolicking at this time of night, if not a mythical creature?
Bare legs flashed in the surf. A shapely arm followed. He continued to tread water, unable to look away. Then a form rose up in the foam, and long red hair flipped backward. A woman. A naked woman. He was entranced.
As if the moon pulled him toward her, he soon found himself in the surf, too. The water reached his waist, and he watched her tumble and roll in the waves, like a small child who’d been cooped up all day and finally had a taste of freedom.