A Suitable Replacement (21 page)

Max wanted only to walk out the door and to hell with all of them. "I will listen, Your Highness, but I cannot promise I will agree to anything."

Nodding, folding her hands in her lap, Sarah said, "I propose you marry me for a period of nine months, up to as long as a year if the situation requires. After such time, the baby will be born, my lover will be available to marry, and we can quietly divorce on the grounds of incompatibility."

"After having a child?" Max asked. "Divorces are rarely granted when there are children."

She shook her head. "It has already been secured, and it will be put into the contract we'll both sign. That contract, of course, will not be made public. After the divorce, you are free to go on your way. For your trouble, I will ensure that you are given funding and support for whatever scientific endeavors you wish to pursue for the next ten years. I also have enough clout in certain circles to ensure you are given admittance to those places barred from you because of your more eccentric scientific leanings."

"I have no desire to have someone force my peers to tolerate me," Max replied.

"I've read your papers, my lord. I think it would do the scientific community well to be forced to pay more attention to you. No one likes to admit to the things that happened, the things our soldiers saw, during the Hollow Wars. Authorities do their level best to erase the word 'goblin' from society, but there are reasons they've never entirely succeeded."

Max's brow rose. "I was given to believe that should we marry my
eccentric leanings
would have to be abandoned."

"I do not like to speak rudely of anyone, but I confess my opinion of Lord Pennington is exceedingly low."

"As is mine, Your Highness," Max replied, mouth twitching briefly.

"I am no scientist; I've neither the time nor the patience to pursue such topics." She briefly rested a hand on her stomach. "Right now, especially, my attention is entirely elsewhere. But I do support the sciences, Lord Honeysett—"

"Highness, I think under the circumstances, you should feel free to be less formal. Max is fine, please."

She nodded. "Lord Max, I do not want to trouble you overmuch. The honest truth is that when my father first began arranging my marriage, you were one of the candidates. Eventually your name was removed from the list because it was decided you and your sister were simply too …"

"Scandalous, reckless, and many other such things. I can imagine the phrasing," Max said, mouth curving in a smirk. "Quite so. But the reckless, eccentric brother of a scandalous duchess is precisely what you need now. No one will be at all surprised when you divorce me several months from now. My only problem is that I have no desire to sever my current marriage. On the contrary; I would very much like my husband back."

"Lady Charmaine told me of your troubles. This is partly her idea, since she involved herself once she returned to the city three months ago and learned all that had happened in her absence. I think the idea will still work, though it would require an annulment of your marriage. That being said, I will be the first to congratulate you when our divorce is final and you are free to return to your Mr. Moore."

Assuming Kelcey would still want anything to do with him by that point. Max was fairly certain he would not. As Charmaine had reminded him, they'd only known each other a matter of months, and those months had been far from relaxing. Not to mention the unpleasantness surrounding their parting and his poorly chosen words. He would not be surprised if Kelcey decided that 'returning' to him was leaving a note before slipping away again.

Max would give anything to see Kelcey one more time. Just the once. Instead all that stretched before him was months of sham marriage in a foreign land. Well, perhaps he could do what he should have done in the first place and put all his effort into obtaining a suitable replacement for Kelcey. He owed Kelcey a good spouse. An excellent spouse. He could do his best to see Kelcey gained one, even if thinking about Kelcey with someone else left him feeling like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart to mush. "What of my sister and her husband?"

"All is forgiven and forgotten, and they'll always be welcome in my home."

"Your word on that?"

She smiled at him, and damn if she did not seem sincere in her sympathy. "In writing even, my lord."

"So be it, then," Max replied, and rose as she did, accepting the hand she held out and bowing over it. Rising, he asked, "Will I be named the father, then?"

"Yes," she replied. "Though you've no obligations there, of course, and they'll be told the truth of the matter once they're of age for it. I've no desire to let such secrets fester."

Max nodded. "So be it, then, Your Highness. I assume you'll give me all pertinent details?"

"They'll be sent on to your home, my lord. The wedding is to be a week's time, and the tailors will arrive tomorrow at eleven o'clock. We will leave for a summer home my family seldom uses anymore, until after the baby is born in four months. My father will probably require you to go out and about with him a few times to give a face to my affair-turned-husband. A few months after the baby is born we will divorce as quietly as we married and we can all resume our normal lives."

"As you say, Highness," Max replied. "I will do my best to serve you well in Lord Ridley's place."

"My dear Lord Max, you are already proving to be more reliable. Goodnight, my lord. I will see you at the end of the week to sign all the papers."

He bid her goodnight, then went upstairs to his room, where someone had set out a dressing robe and glass of brandy for him. Somehow, it reminded him of all the reasons he did not want to return to his own house:  that simple life already seemed gone, cold and stale, unable to compare to his brief time with Kelcey.

That would teach him to be entirely like his sister, reckless and daring and devil may care. Far better for him to stay safely in his middle ground, walk the thin line between boring and bedlam. Mavin was the only one who could flagrantly disregard all the rules of the world. Look at the current mess they were in:  she was off with her husband, happy as a lark and troubled by
nothing
. He would have to give up a year of his life to fix the mistake Mavin and Gerard had made, and the man he loved was long gone and probably hated him.

And he would do it for ten years if he thought it would bring Kelcey back to him. But it wouldn't, because he was not Mavin, and the world did not bend around him that way.

Stripping off his clothes, Max finished the glass of brandy and climbed into bed, where he let alcohol and exhaustion finally pull him into a fitful slumber.

Chapter Twelve

Max bowed to Lord Oliver as the dance ended, and escorted him back to his mother and father. Nodding politely to the rest of the group clustered about, he retreated to the buffet tables for something to drink, selecting a glass of sparkling rose wine before retreating to one of the many nooks edging the ballroom.

Two more months. Two more gods-damned months and he could go home.

He felt the greatest of spoiled brats for being so malcontent with being a prince, but all he wanted was his townhouse, his laboratory, and his husband. Two more months and he would have the first two things back … and he had been trying uselessly for months to reconcile the permanent loss of the third. Charmaine's letters had only ever said she had found Kelcey, and later than he was home again. Max had waited and waited for a letter from Kelcey, but when none came the last ember of hope to which he'd clung had finally gone cold. As much as he wanted to see Mav again, he was not certain he could stomach returning to the place where a single volatile encounter had completely changed his life. A place where he would never see Kelcey again.

In the interests of letting go, he had compiled almost fifty profiles of people he thought Kelcey would get on well with—but he'd never been able to make himself mail them off. Hope was extinguished, but that did not mean he was ready to move on.

Max twirled his champagne flute back and forth, watching the bubbles in the winking candlelight. The scent of falling leaves and wood smoke was heavy on the air, touched with a hint of frosty bite that heralded snow would be arriving before too long.

A discreet cough came from behind him; Max turned around and raised his brows in silent query at the servant. "Beg pardon, Your Highness, but you've a guest. She said she thought it would be better for her to wait for you somewhere private. I've left her in the amber room." He presented a salver, on which rested a calling card. Max stared at the vibrant red and gold card. Mavin had come to see him? If he expected anyone, it was Charmaine. Though Sarah and her father had declared all forgiven, Mavin and Gerard thought it best not to visit. Unusually circumspect for Mavin, who had confined their communications to letters and the odd (occasionally inappropriate) gift.

"Thank you, Freddy. I will go see her now. Take the card to Her Highness; tell her I will see her at breakfast."

"Yes, Highness."

Draining his sparkling wine, Max handed the glass off to another servant as he passed through the ballroom. Once he was free of it, he walked more quickly through the halls of the palace until he came to the amber room. His stomach churned, delight mingling with lingering anger, because he loved his sister and had missed her fiercely, but he still wanted to throw her in a well and leave her there for a couple of hours.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and finally opened the door. He closed it quietly behind him. Mavin sat on the dark green settee that occupied the center of the room, flanked by matching chairs trimmed in gold. Her dress was … shockingly modest for Mavin, dark maroon velvet with black lace trim, the neckline high enough that her breasts were almost entirely covered. She had not dressed that modestly since their parents' funeral (and she had offended all of society by wearing dark blue and gray rather than black). Even her hair was tame, braided and then pinned up, with nothing added for flair. Seeing him, she stood up and strode across the room toward him. "Max!"

"Mav, is everything all right?" he asked, catching her up tightly as she threw herself into his arms. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I've missed you! Because it's my fault this happened, and you never should have been forced to fix all of this, and I never thought it would turn out so badly. You've always been there for me, and this is how I repay you? I'm the good-for-nothing."

Max smiled against her hair, then drew back enough to give her a gentle shake. "Now, now, we both know you are and forever shall be the ninny. I am the indolent prince who does nothing but write papers and give lectures and annoy my father-in-law with my lack of political and social acumen. I think I am successfully defending my title of good-for-nothing. No fair trying to steal it, ninny." He drew out a handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. "I won't lie, I've plotted your demise many times over the past several months and some of them got quite creative … but it's not been all bad. People
have
to listen to my crackpot theories when I'm royalty, you know. I try not to abuse my power, but I admit it's fun seeing the frustration on their faces that they cannot so easily mock and dismiss me. I'll miss it when I'm once again someone they can ignore." He kissed her cheek and tucked the handkerchief away. "Is that all you came here for? You could have apologized when I was home again."

"Not—not entirely," she said. "Someone came with me, but we thought it best if he snuck up to your room … and he almost would not come. He's been distraught since hearing of your marriage. I heard from Charmaine that he did not take receiving the annulment papers well at all. He is convinced you do not want him anymore. I tried to tell him he's wrong, but he will not believe me. It took weeks to convince him to come ask you himself. I will
never
forgive myself if I have ruined your happiness. I never imagined you and Kelcey would get along so well, but you were so … I always laughed at those stupid stories when they described how the hero lit up when their lover entered the room. But you do," she said softly, sniffling again. "He showed up to breakfast that morning and you lit up. You've been so depressed this past year … and I will surrender everything I have, even my own happiness, if that is what it takes to see you and Kelcey happy together again."

"Kelcey …" Max swallowed. "You brought Kelcey here."

"In your room. I bribed the servant …"

Max hugged her tightly, kissed her cheek. "Thank you." He bolted from the room, taking a back staircase up to the second floor, down the hallway toward the royal suites, fumbling his key out—and only then noticing the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open, but then abruptly stumbled forward as it was yanked wide. Longing, relief, and joy swept over him. "Kelcey." He lunged forward, threw his arms up around Kelcey's neck—and froze as Kelcey remained rigid in his arms.

Flushing hot, insides feeling as though they were suddenly made of lead, Max hastily let go and drew back. Stupid. How could he have forgotten that Kelcey no longer wanted him. Whatever Mav said, he remembered how they'd parted, all the reasons Kelcey probably hated him. He could not quite bring himself to look up as he said, "I'm happy to see you again."

"Why?" Kelcey asked, and his voice was so cold that Max flinched. "So you can finally discharge your duty?"

Max looked up sharply. "What are you talking about? I've missed you." He stepped properly into the room, closed the door. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Kelcey shoved something at him. "Is that why you finished your bloody profiles? Missed me so fucking much that you were trying to marry me off to someone else already. Or did you decide that life as a prince suited you after all? I knew this was a bloody waste of time." He shoved past Max and yanked the door open.

Max struck the corner of a table, jerked, stumbled, scattering papers everywhere before he finally slammed to the floor, knees and palms taking the worse of the hit. Flushing, Max grabbed the edge of the table and hauled himself back up. Kelcey hovered in the doorway, anger and concern warring on his face. Max glared. "Go on and fucking leave then if that's what you want. It's obvious by now you never meant to keep your promise to come see me again. That you never fucking cared I've been worried sick about you, have been wanting to make things right. You've made it clear you see me as a spoiled brat good only for a fuck, instead of maybe as a man who was half in love with you and scared and worried. I made the damned profiles because I wanted you to be happy, you infuriating—"