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I detest the wine the Chestertons always purchase. The champagne at least I can trust to be decent."
    Kelcey smiled over the rim of his own glass. "The wine has never offended me, but so long as it's not whiskey I tend to think it drinkable."
    "I would quite cheerfully kill for a glass of gin, but that tends not to be served in respectable homes."
    Surprised flickered across Kelcey's face, followed by a slow, crooked grin that made Max want to punch him, but only because he was absolutely certain he was not allowed to kiss him.
    He drained his latest glass of champagne and muffled a cough in the soft lace of his cuffs. Kelcey took his empty flute and set it on the table, then pulled out a flask and tipped the contents into the flute. Still grinning, he handed it back to Max. "Try that."
    Max obediently took a sip, recognizing the juniper scent of gin before he even tasted it. "You carry a flask of gin."
    "It's what I grew up on, and though I will not turn away a good glass of brandy …" He flashed another thought-stopping grin. "I still favor gin."
    Max took another sip to hide the fact he could think of absolutely nothing to say. The bastard was proving too appealing by half. Why the hell had his sister flitted off with some insipid ambassador's son?
    The moment he had the thought, he wanted to undo it, forget it, because it had forcibly reminded him he was only there to see who might be a matrimonial fit for Kelcey. Right, then. He had dithered and delayed long enough. Draining the last of the gin, he set the empty flute aside and gestured to the crush of people. "Much as I would love to spend my night drinking gin and ignoring everyone, we are here for you."
    Kelcey's smile faded. "I keep telling you—"
    "Do not be a ninny, sir. Mavin has already taken up that role in this affair."
    "You must be the only man alive who can call her that and live to tell the tale."
    Max smiled briefly. "She calls me 'good-for-nothing.' Now, enough dawdling. I do not even know your most basic requirements in a spouse."
    "I don't have 'basic requirements'. Marriage isn't like shopping for a new coat or horse," Kelcey said, taking a healthy swallow from his flask before jamming it back inside his jacket. "Your sister approached me. We became friends. Six or so months after we met she proposed, said it should be a congenial and equitable arrangement. I agreed—accepted. I never had any notions."
    Pushing at his spectacles, Max replied, "It may not be a shopping venture, but it still requires knowing what you want, or do not want, in someone you hope to spend the rest of your life with. It is not unreasonable to ask you to consider whether or not you want to sire children, or if there specific … intimacies for which you have a strong preference that must be shared by your companion. My aunt and uncle married as strangers and were later so miserable they were granted a divorce."
    Kelcey's mouth flattened as he stared out over the ballroom. "I don't care. There's not a single thing I give a whit about. All I want—" His mouth snapped shut so hard it looked like it hurt. "I want you to drop this madcap scheme."
    "I will not renege on a contract—"
    "I don't give a bloody damn about the contract!" Kelcey snarled, hands balling into fists. He drew them up close to his body, then let his hands fall limply to his sides. "It was never—she was my friend. I don't need some scientifically perfect match, and I don't care about some bloody clause in a stupid contract. All I wanted was not—was not to be alone." His angry tone faded then to something stiff, as though they had gone right back to being strangers. "I think my coming tonight was a mistake. Thank you for all you've done, my lord. I beg that you leave the matter alone and let me trouble you no further."
    He stepped forward and made to move around Max, but bollocks to that. Max grabbed his arm, looped his own through it, and dragged him out to the dance floor, pulling him into position just