“Remember William Boyle?” Tristan asked.
Alistair face darkened as his body suddenly went rigid. Of course Alistair would remember William Boyle. They both would. He was the mad viscount who had abducted Theo, spouting some promise of her hand made by their father, and had nearly killed Alistair when he, Tristan, Everett, Hugo, and Dominic had found him hiding Theo by the docks.
“What would have to do with this Perley?” Alistair asked.
“I had apprenticed for my father since I was ten-and-three years old,” Tristan explained, “My father taught me everything.Toldme everything, especially when it came to our family. He had never once mentioned the marriage arrangement. Yet Boyle had proof. Someone must have drawn the papers for him, and I am doubting more by the minute that it wasn’t Theo and I’s father.”
“Have Dominic’s people check in with him,” Tristan insisted.
“I will do you one better, I will go and speak with him myself,” Alistair stated.
“No,” Tristan quickly replied, and it earned him a scowl from his brother-in-law.
“Your need to protect my sister is appreciated, Alistair,” Tristan said, “But if you go in it lessens the likelihood that he’ll talk. Remember, he hates you. He hates us.”
Alistair’s jaw worked back and forth as he scowled for several seconds, then he gave a begrudging nod.
“You are right, of course,” he admitted gruffly. “We need to handle this delicately. I will speak to him tonight, when we all meet for boxing practice. You are still coming, are you not?”
In truth Tristan had completely forgotten about such plans; too distracted with thoughts of his father, and…Ophelia.
“I am afraid I cannot join you all tonight,” Tristan said, rising from his chair. “I have too many irons in the proverbial fire. But you use my private boxing room, please. My staff will cater to whatever the four of you need.”
Alistair rose from his chair as well, shaking his brother-in-law’s hand.
“These are other irons…do you need help with them?” Alistair asked curiously, “You have been absent quite a bit lately. You know we are willing to help you with anything, Tristan. You do not need to do handle so many things alone.”
Tiristan did his best to offer the man a smile, but he feared it looked more like a toothy snarl. He was in too bad a mood to pull off such an expression.
“I know that. And such an offer is truly appreciated. However I have my affairs firmly in hand,” Tristan replied, “Helping me with this singular problem will be more than enough.”
“Consider it done then,” Alistair replied.
After finding his sister to give her a quick kiss goodbye, Tristan left Theo’s in a foul mood. His mind was torn between the thoughts of his father’s potential murder and Ophelia. He understood neither, but felt himself becoming wholly obsessed with both.
At home he scribbled out his command on a card. He kept it simple, hoping that it would shift his perspective.
Come to me. Now.
The Devil
It was terse and commanding, but Tristan made the note that way on purpose. If anything to remind him that Ophelia was just an employee. His sister’s friend, too, yes but nothing more than that.
He gave the card and the black box with her new mask and dress to one of his trusted messengers, then sent them off. Thesharp command would no doubt infuriate Ophelia, and he tried to ignore that such a fact tickled him. It wasn’t about infuriating her. It was about being professional; about having her finish their contract. Yet even as he told himself that, he sensed there was more to it than that.
With that done, he had a quick supper, then proceeded to get ready for the night’s work. He was glad for it, now more than ever. With the news he’d discovered earlier, there was no chance of him sleeping anyway. He wanted to be at the masquerade. To be in the world that made sense to him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Come to me now?”
The moment Tristan closed the door to his office Ophelia demanded the question of him with her hands on her hips.
“That is how you summon me?Come to me now?”
She saw his raised eyebrow and cool expression as Tristan took off his mask, and it only infuriated her farther. She’d been relieved at first to receive the red envelope; more than happy to earn more money and have a distraction from her upturned life- but when she’d read the four letter command, she wanted to rip the paper into tiny shreds and send it back with the instructions to shove it down it his own throat.
“You wished for a different directive?” He asked calmly.
