Chapter 9
His new house was very…nice.
Max stood in the center of the parlor, still holding his worn carpet bag, and slowly turned in place.
It was amazing what could be accomplished with enough money.
Not only had his house been built in a matter of weeks, but it was completely furnished as well.
The wallpaper was tastefully muted, the pair of chairs in front of the fire looked comfortable, and the gas lamps were modern.
But it wasn’t home. Not that he’d ever felt at home at the ranch in Wyoming, but over the years, he’d grown used to his father—to the décor picked by the man he’d thought had been his father. Here, there were no paintings hanging on the wall, no knick-knacks on the mantel or the tables.
Shaking his head, Max set down his bag and stepped back into the foyer, then crossed into the dining room. Had he really expected the builder to personalize the house as well?
That’s your problem.
And it was a problem, because the more he saw of his new house, the more he could imagine it personalized.
Not with his things—because, despite the shopping sprees Lysander had forced upon him, Max’s clothes could still fit in two suitcases—but with hers.
He could imagine a sewing kit tucked there, beside the chair, or a colorful painting which had caught her eye sitting on the mantel.
He could imagine the fancy china plates she’d picked out sitting in that cabinet, and a painting of the two of them hanging along that wall.
And the her he was imagining—the woman standing beside him in that painting—was Ember.
Was he crazy? He’d known her for such a short time, but he could absolutely imagine sharing his home with her.
Sharing his life with her.
He picked up his second suitcase and began to climb the stairs to the next floor. The house’s design rivaled the ranch back in Everland in terms of quality, but it was nothing like Newfincy Castle or Dumpkins Estate.
Snorting softly, he stepped into the first bedroom.
Imagine, someone like him knowing what the inside of a castle looked like!
He was a simple man, and he knew this house was too fancy for him alone.
Why, this bedroom was finer than the room he’d stayed in at the inn, which had been part of the ancient manor house!
He dropped the suitcase near the bed, knowing he’d have to hang up the suits so they wouldn’t wrinkle too badly, and wandered across the hall. This bedroom was smaller, and would be ideal for a nursery—
A nursery?
Max blew out a breath.
He was thinking about babies? With…with Ember?
No, you’re thinking about a life with Ember.
Ember, the serving lass he’d only just met. Ember, the lady he’d danced with at the ball. Ember, the woman he’d almost taken against the workbench at Oliphant Engraving.
Ember, the woman he loved.
Well, shit.
Max scrubbed a hand over his face while he muttered to himself.
He loved her?
Yes, by God, he did. He loved her!
So what are you going to do about it, idiot?
The way he’d left things with her…
She’d been crying. He’d made her cry. He hadn’t purposefully hidden his identity from her or anything, but she’d been right to have been hurt by the confusion. Now that he realized how much she was relying on impressing “Mr. DeVille,” he could see why she’d been so upset.
He needed to figure out how to make it better. How to convince her he wasn’t a bad guy. How to make her see how much he needed her in his life.
“I’m going to need some help,” he muttered.
“Ye home?”
Max jerked at the sound of the voice from downstairs. It took him a moment to recognize it. “Leonidas?” he blurted in surprise. It was rare for Da’s heir to leave the old estate, wasn’t it? Max shook his head and called, “I’ll be right there!”
Sure enough, as he thundered down the steps, there was his half-brother, standing in the foyer with his hands in his pockets, peering around at the new furnishings, expression unreadable behind the scars.
Max skidded to a stop awkwardly, uncertain how to respond to the other man’s presence in his new home. But his half-brother finally nodded as he looked up at the ceiling joists.
“Congratulations, Max. The house looks sound.”
“Thanks.” Max jerked his head toward the seating area. “Can I get you anything? I’m sure I can figure out how to get the hob to work for tea.”
Leonidas’s lips twitched as he glanced over at Max. “Ye need a housekeeper. Surely ye could hire one of the various Mrs. Oliphants who are hanging about?”
“There do seem to be plenty of them.”
Max followed his brother into the living room. “I dinnae need tea,” the older man announced, still peering at the empty walls. “I just wanted to see yer new home. Hope ye dinnae mind me visiting?”
“Not at all.” Max sank into one of the chairs and realized he meant it. “Seriously, Leonidas, stop by whenever, I’d be glad for the company. And…” He shrugged, dropping his gaze to his brother’s shoulder. “It would be nice to get to know you.”
His brother hummed and sent him a glance from where he stood by the hearth. “Call me Lyon.” An awkward silence, until he cleared his throat. “Makes sense ye might be lonely. Until ye find someone to share the place with. She might mind yer hideous brother haunting yer home too.”
Max’s chest constricted. Not because Lyon had given him permission to use his nickname, not because he’d referred to himself as hideous…but because he’d called himself Max’s brother.
This sibling of his was the most mysterious, and the fact he’d just welcomed Max…well, it made this place feel even more like home.
Perhaps he’d been staring at his brother a little too long, because Lyon cleared his throat and shifted his weight.
“I’m here because Athena showed up and badgered me about what happened today.”
“What happened today?” Max’s brows rose, uncertain he understood.
Lyon moved to study the workmanship of the carvings around the mantel. “To hear her tell it, Lysander rode hell for leather to Newfincy to complain about his visit to the inn.”
Oh. “The tea?” Max clarified.
Without glancing over, Lyon made a sound which might’ve been a snort. “Oh, our brother had plenty to say about the tea, and the actions of a certain young lady.”
“Yeah, he was disappointed by how…self-centered Tiffany was.”
“Cruel, heartless, shallow, vain, was how Lysander described her to Athena.” Lyon straightened. “She thinks he’s overreacting, but they have a plan, apparently.”
Max shrugged. “I don’t think Tiffany was that bad, but I don’t know her that well. I suspect she was just…excited about meeting Lysander.”
His brother was studying him. “Aye, well, Tiffany Oliphant and the lesson she needs to learn is Lysander’s problem. I didnae come to talk about her, but about ye.”
“Me?” Max shifted in his seat. “What about me?”
Lyon’s glance took in the room, the empty walls, the air of anticipation the house carried. “Athena said Lysander said that ye’ve been looking for a lass, and ye found her. But he described the way ye looked as ye chased after the serving lass.”
“She’s not a serving lass,” Max growled, only to then realized what he said. Flushing, he dropped his gaze to his lap. “Ember’s more than that.”
His brother hummed, then crossed to the other chair. “Tell me.”
“I don’t…” Hell, how was he supposed to explain it to Lyon, when he didn’t understand it himself? “It’s complicated.”
Lyon wasn’t as dapper as Lysander, nor as likable as Phineas; in fact, his scars pulled his expression into a permanent scowl, and he didn’t seem to mind the hostile air it gave him.
He seemed fine holding everyone at arms’ length, although Max’s siblings had told him their oldest brother hadn’t always been like that.
But one thing Max could say about him: when Lyon looked at you, you stayed looked at. The older man’s hazel eyes were penetrating, and that gaze made Max shift guiltily in his seat, wanting to fill up the silence somehow.
Now, Lyon hummed and crossed one booted ankle over the opposite knee and nodded expectantly. “I dinnae mind complicated. Start explaining. When did ye meet this lass?”
It was a little surprising that this brother of his, this recluse, the Beast of the Oliphants, was so interested in his life. So interested in Max. The fact that he cared enough to barge in here and ask questions meant that Max would tell him anything he wanted to know, any time.
With a deep breath, Max began.
He told Lyon about the serving lass at the inn, the one who’d caught his eye, whose hand he’d brushed the day of the ball. He skipped to the ball and told about dancing with the utterly intriguing lady in silver, who’d hinted at wanting to go into business with him, then lost her shoe.
Lyon nodded and lifted his fingertips to brush against his scarred cheek in a movement which looked unconscious. “They’re the same lass, are they no’?”
“How’d you know that?”
His brother shrugged. “Narrative causality. It’s easier to see this shite from afar, after it’s happened. So yer serving lass is also a lady?”
“She’s…I don’t know. She’s a talented engraver. She designed and made the shoes the baroness’s daughters wore to the ball.”
Lyon hummed. “Aye, I remember hearing about them from Keith. Impressive. So she snuck away from her serving duties to attend the ball?”
“She’s not a servant.” Max shook his head. “Maybe she is.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Her stepmother is the baroness, but she’s treated as a servant. Her father was a talented engraver, and Ember has his talent. And his passion. That’s where she should be.”
“So what’s the issue?”
Max sighed and launched into the explanation of how he and Ember had accidentally neglected to explain exactly who they were to the other. “It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. Just…”
His brother grunted in commiseration. “So ye’re in love with her?”
“I am,” Max sighed.
“Which one? The lady, or the serving lass, or the engraver?”
“I fell in love with her,” Max announced sternly, straightening dropping both heels to the floor. “With Ember. She’s not a lady, but she’s not just a serving lass either. She’s a brilliant inventor and artist, and she’s funny and talented, and she makes me happy.”
And ridiculously aroused, but he wasn’t going to mention that to his brother.
He sighed. “I like being around her, and I like learning about her skills. There’s absolutely no reason for me to have fallen in love so quickly, but I can’t stand the thought of not having her in my future.” He glanced around the room. “Here. I want her to help build this place into a home.”
Home.
Home.
The word seemed to echo around the space, the emptiness that Max wanted to fill with her. Suddenly, he could see it, could feel it. He nodded firmly, although his brother hadn’t said anything.
That’s what he wanted, and now that he’d said it out loud, it seemed more…real somehow.
“Ye ken…” Lyon stood, and took his time straightening his cuffs. “I used to be married. I thought I kenned all there was to ken about love. But that confession?” He finally raised his hazel gaze to Max’s, his expression oddly blank. “That was one-of-a-kind. Ye love yer Ember.”
It hadn’t been a question, but Max slumped, relieved. “Yes.” His breath whooshed out of him. “I do.”
His brother nodded and dropped his hands to his hips. “So what are ye going to do about it?”
Max winced and shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure how I’ve botched her opinion of me, but I have, and I need help fixing it.”
“Have ye told her this?”
“That I’ve bungled the whole thing?” Max nodded, then changed his mind and shook his head. “I’m not sure. She’s mad, but I don’t know if it’s me she’s mad at.”
His oldest brother snorted. “I meant about being in love with her.”
“Oh.” Had he told her he loved her? He hadn’t, had he? Max winced again. “Not exactly. I only just figured it out myself.”
Lyon’s gaze was intent, as if waiting for Max to figure shit out. “Well, then, I think ye ken what ye need to do, eh?”
Confused, Max shook his head. “If I knew that, I would have done it already, not be sitting here all maudlin.”
His brother stuck out a hand. “Ye need to tell her how ye feel.”
Dazed, Max reached up and clasped his brother’s forearm, and when Lyon pulled him to his feet, stood there for a long moment, staring into the other man’s guileless gaze.
His brother. Lyon was his brother, sired by the same laird.
He’d been raised to be a gentleman, the kind of man others called milord.
But he’d offered Max friendship and understanding and support and advice.
He’d come out of his way here, to lift Max’s spirits.
Max had had friends before, but until he’d arrived here in the Highlands, he’d never had a family.
He squeezed Lyon’s arm once then, with a nod, stepped back and cleared his throat. “Thank you. I—I will.”
His brother nodded once. “And take her something special. I’m no’ the expert on the fairer sex that Lysander is, but I ken that women like that sort of thing. No’ flowers.” He shook his head. “Nor something alive. I learned that the hard way—some lasses just dinnae like puppies.”
Max’s eyes had gone wide. “Something…special.”
“Aye, something that shows you really understand her—not as a lady or a serving lass—but Ember. And for the love of fook, brother, tell her you love her, just as she is.”
Max could feel his breaths slowing as he considered the idea. “Just Ember…” He thought of his office drawer and the shoe which rested there, lonely for its mate.
And his smile slowly bloomed. “I think I have an idea.”