A Suitable Replacement (9 page)

He winced just thinking of making the apology, but better to have done and move forward more quickly. Yes. He could—would—do this.

Downstairs, he thanked Hugh for helping him into his coat, then pulled on his gloves, settled his hat, and took back the book as Hugh held out. "I won't be home until late; there is no reason for anyone to wait up for me. Have a good night."

"Yes, my lord." Hugh bowed, and Max turned away, heading for the door.

"My lord—"

Max paused, half-turned, looking over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"I—" Hugh broke off and frowned.

"Come out with it, Hugh."

"Don't give up, my lord."

Max's mouth flattened. "Good night, Hugh." He did not wait for a reply, just jerked the door open and headed down the steps and into the carriage.

The journey across town seemed interminable, though he knew from staring at his pocket watch that it took only nineteen minutes. Throwing the door open, he climbed out and dropped neatly to the street. "Wait here, Willow. We'll return shortly."

Holding the book close, he rang the bell for Kelcey's room. A moment later the door opened and Kelcey stood in the doorway, not quite meeting his eyes as he said, "Come on up. I'm not quite ready, my apologies. I—"

"I'm early," Max said with a tight smile, stomach gnarled, the hope he'd been clinging to withering. Why could he not have been drunk enough to forget the entire debacle? He followed Kelcey upstairs and settled in the same chair he'd sat in before, as Kelcey vanished into his bedroom.

Several long moment of anxious fidgeting later, Kelcey reemerged—and damn it all, did he have to look so … so fucking beautiful and out of reach? Max wanted to do unspeakably violent things to him, or run off into the night and never have to look at him again. It wasn't fair. They'd spoken only a handful of times. Most of those encounters had begun or ended in a disagreement. Under the circumstances, Kelcey should not have such a hold over him.

Drawing a breath and letting it out on a soft, shuddery sigh, he crossed the distance between them so that he was just close enough to thrust the book into Kelcey's arms. He opened his mouth to give the carefully rehearsed apology he had agonized over for hours, but all the words fled. "A token—an apology. For my behavior the other night. I acted untoward. I would never … that is, I am sorry. I hope I have not ruined any chance of friendship. I-I hope you like the book."

The silence stretched on. Max wished he had just cancelled the bloody evening and remained in bed. "I'll wait outside," he told Kelcey's waistcoat, gathering up what little remained of his pride and not quite running back outside and into the stuffy dark of his carriage.

Why couldn't the bastard have said
something?
Max had apologized—with a gift!—and said he would not trouble him further. Would it be so bloody hard for him to say that the apology was accepted, or even not accepted? Something. Anything.

Max scowled out the window at the street. Was it too late to call the whole evening off? Perhaps Kelcey would stay in his room, and Max could take the hint and run away and never see him again.

Alas, he had barely finished the thought when Kelcey came out of the building. He seemed to hesitate the barest moment before bounding up the carriage, which was long enough for Max's breath to catch. Was he seriously going to ride with Willow? Max balled his hand into a fist and pounded it against his thigh.

He was about to go find Kelcey to deliver the second hit poised on his fist when the carriage shook, the door swung open, and Kelcey climbed in smoothly and settled across from him. "My lord, I have a great deal to say to you, and I am sorry I fumbled so terribly upstairs, but at the moment I fear we may have a greater problem."

"Oh?" Max said bitingly, not bothering to tear his gaze from the window, fingers still curled in a fist in his lap. "What problem is that?"

"I believe you are being followed."

Max slammed a hand down on the bench. "Followed? You are either desperate to avoid this discussion, or entirely too paranoid. Either way, I have had quite enough." He kicked the door open and threw himself out of the carriage, only then realizing that he should have ordered Kelcey out of it. Whatever. He had been suffocating anyway. Regaining his footing, Max—

Yelped as he was grabbed and jerked back. Fear shot through him before the familiar sweet-citrus scent of Kelcey's cologne registered. "Unhand me."

"No," Kelcey said. "Of course you would be a difficult charge
.
You're so much like your sister at times that I want to throttle you." He kept firm hold of Max's arm and led him down the street back to his building, unlocking the door and shoving Max inside before slamming it shut and locking it once more.

Max shook himself, settling his ruffled clothes, but then he was being grabbed close again and hauled up the stairs to Kelcey's rooms. "What in the devil, sir?"

"You are being followed," Kelcey snapped. "It's not a bloody excuse to avoid a conversation."

"Why the hells would anyone be following me?" Max asked.

Kelcey shot him a decidedly unimpressed look, sharp in the flaring light of the lantern he lit. "Have you forgotten your sister ran away with a foreign lord who was engaged to a princess?"

"Oh." He
had
forgotten. Sort of. "It's been nearly three weeks since I returned home, and what, five or six weeks since she ran away? I assumed they must have had no use for me, else they would have come for me much sooner. Her Majesty would have sent for me, there is no need for all this sneaking about nonsense. Which means it is absurd that I would be followed." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Now, sir—" He halted at the expression on Kelcey's face, taken aback to see the frustration he felt so plainly echoed. "That is …"

Kelcey huffed as he walked toward Max, every step still so infuriatingly silent. Max stepped backward, not certain he wanted to know what would happen if he let Kelcey get too close—and promptly collided with the low table and went down hard, cracking his elbow, his head, and doing it all again when the table broke under him and introduced him to the floor.

Max sighed as he heaved himself up enough to turn on his side, coughing in the cloud of dust that surrounded him, wondering if there was any hope of finding the remains of his pride in the mess.

"Are you—"

The words were cut off by a sharp bang and the cracking of breaking wood, and then the entire room turned into chaos as four—five—oh, bugger it, he couldn't tell in the mess. Entirely too many, that was for damned sure. Max tried to stand up, but with the way Kelcey and their assailants were moving, it was impossible to do anything but curl into a ball, cover his head, and hope for the best.

He looked up at the sound of something landing next to him and stared back at the dull, unfocused eyes watching him, the blood pouring out of the poor sod's nose. Taking the opening, Max scrambled over the man and threw himself toward the bedroom door. He hunched in the doorway, watching as Kelcey threw another man across the room as though he weighed nothing. Two more men rushed him and the punching-kicking-shoving began anew.

Max was tempted to pull his pistol, but the room was small and they were moving around far too much to risk it.

Kelcey snarled as he kicked one man to the floor, then grabbed the other and slammed his head into the fireplace mantle. The man dropped like a stone. "Max! Now!"

Startled to hear his name, Max gaped for a moment then hastily ran over to him, and he did not protest past a startled gasp when Kelcey grabbed firm hold of his arm and dragged him out of the room.

They were forced to a halt outside, surrounded by a half-circle of seven more men. "What in the hell is going on?" Max demanded, shaking off Kelcey's hold. "I do not know what you think you are doing, sir," he said to the man who seemed to be in charge, judging by his finer clothes and the way the others were framed around him. "But I will have your head—"

"You will come with us or you will be placed under arrest," the man interrupted.

Max's brows rose. "You will watch your tone, and you will address me respectfully, or you will be introduced to the pavement face-first."

The man's mouth pinched beneath a heavy black mustache. "Lord Honeysett, I am under orders—"

"I don't give a buggering fuck about your orders. You have been following me, you accosted my friend in his own home without so much as a bloody knock on the door, you have ruined my evening, and without once bothering to tell me why." He balled his hands into fists, itching for his pistol, refraining only because it would only make the situation worse. "Explain yourself at once or you shall regret it sorely, sir, I promise you."

The man made an irritated noise, muttering to himself before saying loudly, "I do not have time for noble fits. Put Lord Honeysett in the carriage, and secure the other one. He's done quite enough damage for one night."

"I'll show you—" Max stopped when Kelcey's hand curled briefly around his hip. He looked over his shoulder, took in Kelcey's expression, and huffed in surrender. "Fine." Two of the men moved toward Kelcey, brandishing manacles, and Max's anger sparked anew. "If you even attempt to put those on him I promise you will be eating them."

The man with the mustache bristled. "We cannot let a dangerous—"

"You will do what I say," Max said. "I do not know who you are, but I sincerely doubt you are more powerful than me. Leave him alone unless you are prepared to endure the consequences of making an enemy of the Duchess of Armount."

"Leave off the chains, but get them in the damned carriage," the man snapped.

Max grunted as he was roughly grabbed, but went along as he was hustled into his carriage, crammed into the corner with Mustache squeezed in beside him. He had at some point pulled out a pistol, resting it lightly on his thigh but definitely pointed toward Kelcey. "Behave, because I won't hesitate to shoot. Not after what you did to my men."

"They should not have burst into Mr. Moore's apartment looking for a fight," Max said. "They should not have acted like bloody brutes. If you wanted a word with me, you might try calling upon my home like a civilized person."

Mustache heaved a long sigh. "I thought her grace was supposed to be the difficult one."

"Her grace tends to be louder and more vibrant," Kelcey's voice cut through the carriage, nearly as soft as his footsteps but all the louder for it. "Only a fool would think that makes his lordship less in any way, and you have gotten precisely what you deserve for making such rash and stupid decisions."

Silence fell, and Max withdrew as much as he could, trying to maintain his scowl as he stared out the window, but a pleased smile teased at his mouth to hear Kelcey defend him, even if he perhaps should not be pleased to hear he was as difficult as his sister.

The rest of the trip passed in silence, though several times Max nearly demanded to know where they were going. It became quickly apparent from the streets they traveled that they were not headed for the palace as he had assumed.

Instead they came to a stop in front of a rather old, unremarkable, and quite frankly anticlimactic building. It was a boring little brownstone at the edge of a wealthy neighborhood and completely opposite the royal grounds. Max rolled his eyes, snatched his cane up from the floor, and climbed out of the carriage. He righted his clothes as he waited for the others to assemble, relaxing slightly when Kelcey moved to stand beside him.

Mustache led them up the stairs and into a dreary, dimly lit hallway that led to an equally lackluster study, the smell of dust so strong that Max barely got his handkerchief out in time before he sneezed loudly into it. Tucking the kerchief away again, he lifted his chin and peered down at the rather imperious looking figure occupying the sole chair in the room, something that definitely had been brought as it was in far too good condition to be part of the derelict house. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

"You are very much your sister's brother," the man drawled. "I remember those very words in that very tone the first time I met her grace."

"You still have not answered the question, and I am running out of patience."

"My name is Myles Pennington. I—"

"You are guide and companion to Lord Frances Ridley," Max said. "If you wanted to have a conversation with me why not simply call upon me, or bid me come to you?"

"Because you may have noticed, my lord, that so far no one has said anything about your sister except that she is missing, and you've taken up with her fiancé. The scandal right now is that she ran off because you snatched her fiancé from beneath her nose—"

"What?" Max pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course that's the bloody rumor people contrive. Why did I ever bother coming back to this damn place? So you are being all penny novel about this matter because you want people to continue thinking I'm a bastard who stole my sister's groom so that no one knows she ran off with your Lord Ridley? I'm assuming you intend this ruse to last until you have time to smooth out whatever problems have been caused by my sister's behavior. I'm also going to assume from your despicable behavior that something is awry with that flimsy plan."

Pennington cast him a sour look, but he looked so weary beneath it that Max did not quite have the heart to continue lambasting him. "Yes, we want to keep the real reason for her absence quiet, and yes, matters are beginning to spin out of control. We need to speak with her."

"Well, I'm afraid you've aggravated the wrong person, because I don't know where she is," Max replied.

"Now is not the time for lies!" Pennington snapped, shoving out of his chair and stalking toward Max, fists tensed for swinging.

Before Max could get a word out, he found his view blocked by black velvet spread across broad shoulders, the smell of dust briefly driven away by sweet-citrus cologne. "If you attempt to harm him, my lord, I do not care who you are, you will be made to regret it."

"You will be arrested—"

"I'm already branded a traitor for crimes I never committed; do you think I give a bloody damn if someone actually bothers to slap me with real charges? You will sit down, or I will take care of you and your men, and then we will vanish as thoroughly as Lady Mavin."