“Additionally, does not everyone that comes here run that risk?” She asked, “Besides, I am better at hiding my identity than anyone else here- save maybe for you. I have been painting under this disguise for over two years now and no one has discovered the real me.”
Tristan opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off.
“Even if they would, what would it matter?” She asked him. “I have already aged out of the marriage mart. I am considered a spinster, so I have no need for a reputation.”
“You have been using this disguise for years now?” He asked. Even he had to admit, he was impressed by that.
Ophelia gave a single, absolute nod.
“You are the only one that has ever recognized me. We havebothevaded the public eye for years. And we have done so very well.”
Tristan sighed, studying the imploring look on her face. He’dneverseen Ophelia look like this before. Annoyed, bored, agitated with all things men- related, sure. But he’d never seen her sad- or desperate. Whatever she needed the money for, it was obviously urgent.
“So let us strike an accord with one another,” Ophelia ventured further, “I will not tell your secret. You do not tell mine. You let me try to paint for you again, andtrulyshow you what I can do, and then you hire me. I need this project. You need this project completed. I know we never agree on anything, Tristan, but you must see, on this it is simply pure logic!”
Tristan gritted his teeth, hating that not only was she correct about everything she had just said, but that she had him over a barrel. She’d threatened to tell thetonof his identity only moments before, and at the moment, she seemed desperate enough to do it. Ophelia, the constant thorn in his side since he’d met her, had him in the palm of her little hand.
“If we are going to do this, we are going to do this properly,” he stated. “I have rules.”
Ophelia’s body relaxed a little, and she crossed her arms.
“What sort of rules?” She asked.
He lifted two fingers and waved them at her person.
“Thislittle dress up thing you have will not do. I will send you proper clothesandproper mask. Something that will conceal your identity but won’t make the others feel as if you are out of place.”
“Rude,” she grumbled, “But understandable. Go on.”
“You allow my men to escort you to and from your house every time we have an appointment.”
“I can meet them-”
“No,” he cut her off, “You cannot. I scheduled that pick up believing that you were a man, but now that I know otherwise I am not going to risk your safety by letting you walk the streets of London alone in the dead of night.”
She tsked her tongue.
“Aww, Tristan. I never knew you cared about my safety.” Her words oozed with sarcasm, and his frown deepened.
“Contrary to your belief, Ophelia, I believeallwomen deserve safety,” he retorted.
He waited for another sarcastic remark, his eyes daring her.
“Go on,” she said quietly.
“You and I may butt heads in front of our friends,” Tristan went on, “But we willnotdo that here. We will do nothing to compromise our identities. I do not care if you have to bite your tongue until it bleeds. I do not care if you walk into a vacant room to shove your face into a pillow and scream. You willnotargue with me. Youwillrespect me. Keep your viper’s tongue to yourself within these walls.”
“You think my tongue is so sharp?” She asked with a fiendish grin.
“Ophelia!”He growled.
“Right, right,” she sighed, backing down immediately. “I understand. In here you are not Lord Perfect. You are the Devil.”
“Precisely,” he muttered.
He groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be trouble. He knew it.
“Stay here,” he demanded, sliding his mask back on. “I will arrange your ride home. I will come back for you when it is ready.”
