“As for my win? Just a lucky night, I guess,” he went onreplied, then downed the glass.
He couldn’t tell them the truth. That he’d been tense as a harlot in church since he and Ophelia found each other out the night before. That he’d been so on edge with his secret, he felt he could bite through steel. That’s why he’d taken the night off from the Masquerade and called them all. He needed a way to release his tension, and he’d certainly found it. After several rounds of boxing, he finally felt at least a little like his usual self.
“Lucky,” Dominic muttered, then took a sip of his own brandy. “Lucky, my foot.”
“All right,” Tristan chuckled, clapping his overly competitive friend on the back, “Let us change the subject lest we drive poor Dominic into an even fouler mood.”
“Well, you may have an opportunity to put your improved boxing skills to use with a new client of ours,” Alistair offered.
Tristan raised an intrigued brow. The five of them were all in business together now, operating the biggest whiskey venture in all of England. It was going so well that in the past year, they had added brandy to that venture. They were making money hand over fist, and every gentleman of thetonseemed to want to find a way in.
“What has happened?” Tristan asked.
“He gave us his buy in, let us look through his accounts. He met all of our requirements for joining, but now I believe he may have deceived us,” Alistair explained. “He has asked to take out a line of credit from one of our investment accounts.”
“How much,” Tristan quickly asked.
“A couple thousand pounds,” Alisatir answered, “I told him no. He did not take it so well. The chap started huffing and puffing like a bull in heat, threatening to put us over a barrel if we did not give it to him.”
All of the tension Tristan just released came rushing back into him, and he went rigid.
“Blackmail? Did he say how he would do that?” Tristan asked.
Alistair let out a huff of a laugh and clapped Tristan on the back.
“He has nothing! The man is a blowhard, nothing more. I am intent on serving him exit papers the moment I find him but thatis the trouble. He seems to have gone missing. Even Dominic’s little spies have not been able to find him.”
Tristan’s muscles ticked with stress. It was Alistair’s job to evaluate every new investor, and he had failed. That, however, was not what he was worried about. Mistakes happened all the time. He’d made more than one with Masquerade. It was the information this man might have on him.
“What’s his name?” Tristan asked. “I can help.”
Alistair screwed his lips to the side, looking guilty.
“That is another thing. After further investigation I am quite sure that he used a false name. He came to me as a Mister Benedict Perley, a liquor merchant. He is an older gentleman. About your height. Short, white hair and dark eyes. Walks with a slight limp.”
Tristan repeated the details in his mind as he rose from the table to fetch his clothes.
“Where are you going?” Everett asked, raising a brow as Tristan pulled on his white shirt, “We have not had a minute to catch up in ages. You have been so busy lately.”
“I know. Apologies,” Tristan replied, putting on his navy blue waistcoat, “But I have an associate that might be able to help us and he only keeps night hours.”
“Intrigue,” Everett sang, rising from his chair, “Well hold back a minute and we shall go with you.”
“No,” Tristan said, drawing on his black jacket, “Stay. Enjoy yourselves. I would like to do this alone.”
“We came here for you,” Hugo called as Tristan walked to the door.
“I will make it up to you later,” he called back, then shoved the door open.
“Lord Darlington,” Christopher Vaughn, the owner of the illegal gaming hell greeted Tristan.
“Mr. Vaughn,” Tristan answered with a nod.
Tristan waited as Christopher’s dark brown eyes looked beyond his shoulder to the guards that had escorted him to the owner’s office. The guards quickly left, shutting the door behind them.
“Have a seat, my lord,” Christopher offered, waving a hand to the chairs across from his desk, “Can I pour you a drink? Or are you here to finally accept my offer for a line of credit?”
“Neither,” Tristan replied, taking a seat, “I was hoping you could help me find someone.”
