A Suitable Replacement (7 page)

He frowned at the various scars and burns that marred his skin. Nothing terribly major, save the one on his side from a flying bit of metal during the one explosion that had not been his fault. Bah, and double bah, and to hells with everything. Spinning away from the pitcher, he stomped to his wardrobe and yanked out suitable clothes—as suitable as he would get, anyway. Max combed his hair, ran his fingers through it, dithering yet again over its length. He would prefer to cut it short as he had kept it abroad, but the fashion was long …

Clearly two weeks was not sufficient time to overcome his attraction to his sister's former fiancé. Why had Kelcey returned? Could he not have remained gone so Max was not reduced to acting like a perfect imbecile?

Heaving a sigh, Max did up the buttons of his jacket, defiantly refusing to wear any sort of neck cloth; damned if he was going to be made to feel as though he were choking in his own home. Finally, he delved back into a world of frustration and confusion, heading down to the main floor. "Where did Master Kelcey go?" he asked Hugh.

"He is in the study, my lord."

"Thank you. I do not suppose a belated supper could be put together?"

"The kitchen is working on it, my lord. I took the liberty of having it prepared when Master Kelcey arrived." He started to speak, hesitated, then gave himself a small nod and finally said, "It is good to see Master Kelcey making friends. He's always been lonely, but not by design."

Max nodded, not having the heart to tell a fond old man that Kelcey considered him nothing of the sort and simply wanted word of his former betrothed. Damn his sister. Max wondered if he would be this tied up in knots if they were still getting married, and was quietly grateful that he would never know the answer to that question. He would rather die than pine after his sister's husband.

Ugh. He was not
pining.
It was impossible to pine after someone he scarcely knew. Lust, certainly. But pine? He was simply being melodramatic.

He left Hugh and reluctantly headed into the study—and lingered in the doorway when he found Kelcey immersed in a book. The study had only been completely unpacked a few days, and the entire place smelled of dust from the warehouse the books had been stored in while he was gone. Max hated to admit that he hardly remembered most of what he possessed anymore; they were a mix of books he had purchased himself, gifts from nearly every birthday and gift-exchanging holiday, and inheritances from two aunts and a great uncle.

The book Kelcey held had to be one of the history books; they were the only ones large enough they could be used to bludgeon someone to death. Max stepped further into the room, grateful the rug muffled his steps, and watched as Kelcey moved to a chair and sat down to read. Max had never seen someone so enthralled with something as simple as a book. Most of what Max read so devoutly were manuals and journals of other scientists, studies of past experiments, papers on the latest goings-on in the scientific community. They were work, however much he enjoyed them.

Max very carefully avoided thinking about all the penny novels he had read while he was abroad. He got sick of looking work in the face every single day, and they had been the only form of entertainment available most of the time. He would never, even under pain of death, admit that he had been stupidly fond of the little fifteen part series entitled
The Highwayman of Hawkwood.

Ugh, he was going to have to clobber himself, there was simply no help for it. Giving up on secretly watching Kelcey, he walked across the room to the bar and poured himself a generous measure of gin. He heard the book snap shut behind him, but did not hear Kelcey's footsteps—and was not remotely surprised when he turned and found him only a couple of paces away. Max lifted his drink in silent question.

"Please, if you do not mind."

"Why should I mind?" Max asked, pouring a second glass of gin and handing it over before retreating to the relative safety of his enormous desk. "I have no idea what we're having for dinner, but I am assured there will be a dinner."

Kelcey laughed; the sound trickled down Max's spine like melted butter dripping on his fingers from fresh bread. "Are you not generally permitted dinner?"

Max huffed softly over the rim of his glass. "I normally am too absorbed in my work to be worth the bother. They leave a cold platter for me to find in my room. But civilized company requires civilized practices. What book were you reading? I did not mean to interrupt."

"I believe ignoring my host would count as uncivilized," Kelcey said, mouth curving in a handsome smile. "It was a history of the royal family. I am told that it is either an ominous interest, or a morbid one, depending on the person opining upon the matter."

"Better to face such matters than avoid them on principle," Max replied. "I think in your position people most often tend toward one extreme or another: either show avid interest or a vehement disinterest." It sounded sad to him, reminded him too much of the way his sister clung to several of their parents' belongings—not because she needed them in any way, but because it was all she had of two people with whom she had never gotten along but had always wished she could. Max was sorry only that they had died. He did not hate his parents, but he had loved his sister more and detested seeing her cry. They were the only ones who could ever hurt her so, and Max had never been able to forgive that.

Kelcey took a swallow of his gin. "Lady Mavin said much the same, but I think she has an inordinate fondness for the strange and questionable."

"I will not deny that," Max said wryly, draining his glass and setting it aside before he went for more. The very last thing he needed was to be inebriated in front of Kelcey. He was an honest drunk, and that would only lead him to making a great fool of himself. He would blow up his house if he woke up after a night of drunken confessions. "It does not make our words any less true."

"I know, and I thank you." Kelcey stared into his glass, swirling the gin around in it, mouth drawing down. Silence stretched on, and Max wondered if he had said or done something wrong. He was just about to apologize when Kelcey looked up again. "My lord, I—"

A sharp rap on the door made him jump, and Max almost laughed, except that Kelcey looked so disgruntled and relieved all at once that it left him too baffled to tease.

Hugh cleared his throat. "My lord, dinner is ready."

"Thank you, Hugh." Max rose and moved around the desk. "Shall we?"

Kelcey nodded and rose to follow him out of the study and across the hall to the breakfast room, since Max saw little point in using the enormous dining room.

He faltered in the doorway, barely avoiding Kelcey crashing into him, scowling at the way the servants had gone to unnecessary trouble. His breakfast room had been laid with all the fine dining accoutrements, even a good tablecloth and candelabra he hadn't known he owned. Fine porcelain and gleaming flatware had been set out along with sparkling crystal glasses and wine pitchers filled with what was clearly his best stuff.

What the devil had gotten into them? Evidently his staff did not have enough to do if they were going to such needless trouble for a hastily prepared meal. Taking his seat, Max thanked the footman who set bowls of fragrant mushroom soup before them and poured the wine. He took a deep swallow—yes, definitely his best stuff. If his staff was that bored, he would find something for them to do.

For the moment, he simply enjoyed his wine and tried not to gawk like a halfwit at Kelcey, who looked even more the mysterious highwayman in the flickering candlelight. Max could recall quite a few scenes in those silly books that began in precisely such fashion, the main character dining with a noble that she knew was the highwayman, though he thought his secret safe. The reveal always came after a great deal of clothing had been removed so that someone—usually the highwayman—was forced to flee whilst practically naked.

And the very last thing he needed was to be thinking about Kelcey in such a state. Though if it were to happen, at least there would be no fleeing except perhaps to his bedroom.

Max drained his wine and reached for more himself, waving off the hovering footman. "I did not know my kitchens were kept sufficiently stocked for such a meal. I think the servants are excited to have something to do. Feeding me requires little more than a loaf of bread and hunk of cheese." He traced the rim of his glass. "And a fair amount of gin."

Kelcey gave a soft laugh. "Well, I am happy to provide such motivation. My meal was going to be something greasy and overcooked at the pub on the corner. I rarely get such fine food as this, and mushrooms are one of my favorite."

"I see," Max said. "Well, I am glad someone appreciates my kitchen and staff, since clearly I do not. I should try more often; the soup is delicious."

They ate in silence through the rest of the soup, until the footman brought in plates of lamb, fragrant from rosemary and the roasted apples alongside. Max barely held back a moan after his first bite. He should stop to eat more often. He had become so accustomed to the dreary meals at the expedition site he'd forgotten how good real food tasted. "So what were you about to ask me in the study?" Max finally asked.

Kelcey froze, fork poised over his plate. He shook himself after a moment and speared a bit of apple. "Uh. I came by to visit Hugh, but also …"

"To ask after Mavin." Max stabbed at another bit of lamb, but was abruptly no longer hungry, and abandoned his fork in favor of his wine.

"No—I mean, yes, of course I want to know she is well," Kelcey said, leaving off his own meal, hands falling to his lap below the table. "But—I mean—I had forgotten in the chaos of her going missing and then … well, there no longer being a wedding, and having to cancel all the plans we had made as regarded it. That is, we were supposed to go to the theatre, but I had forgotten until the tickets were delivered today and Burlington had them sent on to me. It's in your sister's box—well, I guess your family's box, so I didn't know if—"

"I do not mind if you make use of it, if that's what you're asking," Max cut in. Why was he acting so strange?

Kelcey gave a soft huff, drained his wine, and set the glass down with a muffled thunk. "Thank you, but I was trying—would you like to come with me?"

"Oh." Max stared a moment. Kelcey had come to ask him to go to the theatre? He hated the theatre, but … Kelcey wanted to spend time with him?

"Oh?" Kelcey's shoulders slumped, and Max had not noticed until then just how tensely he had been holding himself.

"That is—you made it quite clear at Chesterton's you did not care for my company, sir. I'm puzzled why you want anything to do with me now."

Kelcey's mouth pulled down, lips pressed tightly together. "I said no such thing. You were the one who wanted only to have done with some bloody clause. If you do not want to go, then I shall trouble you no further, my lord." He braced his hands on the table and made to rise.

"No! I—I was only trying to
help
. You were engaged to Mavin, and I thought we might be friends, and I would never leave a friend floundering the way my ninny-headed sister did." He was not certain what to make of the way Kelcey's eyes widened then, but his hands fell away and he settled back into his seat, and that was all that mattered to Max.

Honestly, people were so much easier to deal with when he did not particularly care about anything except the moment they left, and how to hasten that moment's arrival. "So the theatre, then? You do not have to, of course; it was only a passing thought …"

"It would be refreshing to get out of the house," Max replied. "When is it?"

"Friday, curtain goes up at nine o'clock."

They would likely need to arrive around eight for all the usual nonsense. Max did not particularly care, but there was no point in going out if one was not going to engage in the social elements of the affair that were theoretically of more interest than the show. "Shall I meet you there, or come 'round your place a little before eight? I assume this is at the royal theatre?"

"Yes. I have never been, and the play is one of my favorites: 
The Beast of Darkwood
. It's supposed to be quite terrifying. The book was certainly memorable. I have always wanted to see the play." Kelcey finished his meal and pushed the plate away. "If you would oblige me with a ride, I would be grateful. It's a fair distance from my home, and the hackneys around there are dubious at best."

"Of course, of course. The title sounds familiar, but I know I've not read it … oh!" Max wanted to bash his head on the table as he realized it sounded familiar because one of the terrible penny novels he'd read had been loosely based upon the tale, except it was a good deal less terrifying and a great deal more salacious. No one had kept their clothes on very long, and he had quickly lost track of who was sleeping with whom and where they were all meant to wind up in the end. Not one of the better ones, though he would not deny it had been entertaining.

Catching Kelcey's quizzical look, he said, "Someone on the expedition with me talked about it a great deal. She had a cheap printing of the tale with her, and offered it, but I never got around to reading it." He'd read it four times, but details, details. "I'll pick you up at half past seven, then." He rang the bell at his elbow to recall the servants and have the next course brought.

Though he had thoroughly enjoyed the soup and lamb, the fragrant, hearty smell of filet mignon made his stomach rumble. It was cooked perfectly, lightly seasoned, paired with creamed potatoes and glossy buttered carrots. "I must put my kitchen to work more often." He nodded in thanks as the servants poured rich red wine to accompany before fading off once more.

"Your sister's staff is amazing, but they do not cook like this," Kelcey said. "I may have to contrive more reasons to call upon you."

Max bit his tongue against the invitations, polite and decidedly less polite, that wanted out. "If this is how they cook when I have visitors, by all means." He took a swallow of wine and cast about for further conversation topics. "So how do you spend your days, sir? Are you employed somewhere? You do not seem of the temperament to gad about like so many of us spoiled lot."