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here to the jeweler's and the wine shop."
    Rolling his eyes, Kelcey replied, "Yes, my lord." He slipped away before Max could get a retort out.
    Max resumed his seat and retrieved his tea, smiling over the brim of it for no reason he could name—or wanted to name, anyway.

Chapter Three
    "The Chestertons do not like me," Kelcey said.
    "You picked the invitation," Max replied.
    Kelcey made a face. "The other two options hate me. Dislike seemed the preferable option."
    Max shrugged. "Well, the Chestertons cannot afford to offend me, so I think all will be well."
    "Why is that?"
    "Lord Chesterton found himself in a … let us say an awkward situation about a decade ago, shortly after my parents died. My sister could have reneged on the arrangement made with our father, but she upheld the bargain and they remain in our debt—and will be for quite some years yet."
    Kelcey's brows rose. "They must do whatever you say or else they will come to harm at your hand? I did not take you and your sister for that particular brand of bastard."
    "It—I'm not a bastard! We aren't hanging anything over their heads. They simply have a bad habit of getting into awkward situations, and our family has long gotten them out of those situations, so they dare not risk angering the only family still willing to help them when they invariably do something stupid. It's complicated."
    "So I am gathering," Kelcey said, mouth tipping up at one corner.
    Max made a face, staring out the carriage, watching people walk by, annoyed they would be waiting in the carriage another twenty minutes at least before they finally were able to disembark. He was sorely tempted to get out and walk, but he had no desire to hasten being smothered by heat and the press of bodies in an oversaturated ballroom. If not for his obligations to Kelcey, he would gladly maintain his practice of avoiding such things. Obligations. Who was he fooling? If it were anyone else, even a contract would not persuade him.
    He fussed irritably with his cravat, wishing the bothersome things would fade out of fashion so he could stop feeling as though he were choking to death all the time.
    "If you keep doing that you're going to have to retie it," Kelcey said.
    "Beg pardon?" Max turned and stared at him, then registered what he had said. "Oh. It's not as though it was tied well to begin with, and I'd be much happier without it." He sighed. "If only that were an option."
    Kelcey frowned, then moved abruptly to sit beside him, pulling his hands away.
    "I beg—"
    "Hold still."
    Max held still, tried to think of complicated formulae and unpleasant memories of experiments going boom. But even recollections of pain and blood could not beat out the warm smell of Kelcey, the sweet-citrus cologne he wore, the deft movements of his fingers as he manipulated Max's neck cloth in a way that seemed entirely obscene. The slivers of light slipping into the carriage seemed to enjoy the sharp lines of Kelcey's face, adding an air of mystery to the dark, handsome, dangerous highwayman impression that Max's imagination refused to surrender.
    Thinking of obscene touches did nothing whatsoever to help the situation.
    "There," Kelcey said, and smiled briefly before returning to his own seat on the opposite bench.
    Max reached up to lightly touch the rearranged folds of silk, jealous that Kelcey had so smoothly tied such fashionable, elegant knots while in a dark carriage prone to jerking forward at unexpected moments. And he'd seemed completely unaffected by their close proximity while he did it, which was … sadly typical. Everyone wanted Mavin. They had been born only a few minutes apart, and Max had never been anything but relieved that she was first born and set to inherit the title—she was a magnificent duchess—but it would be nice if someone was completely overcome by the sight of him the way they always were when Mav walked into the room.
    But all the charm and charisma and vivaciousness had gone to her. He