He bit the inside of his cheek. Damn it. It suited her. He wanted to picture her as a refined lady, someone cold he could easily distance himself from. But every time he stared into her eyes, their earth-and-toffee depths held him in a trance. There was so much truth in her eyes—fear, sadness, a longing he knew not to be desire but a wish for comfort, safety. He knew that look. He’d seen it in himself, his siblings. She was lost, just like him. Someone had hurt this woman. She was in hiding, navigating a world she’d never known. For all her trepidation, she still stood straight. She held his stare. She survived. All on her own.
She made it impossible to ignore her. Beauty, strength, and a heart filled with vast kindness. His respect for her only grew the more he knew her, which made being near her torture.
But he knew she had to marry a gentleman—a powerful, wealthy nobleman, preferably, as was the case for all the widow’s matches. He was none of those things.
“I’m certain a gentleman would say it’s not appropriate.”
“But what would a friend say?” she countered.
If he declared them not friends, he’d hurt her feelings. Again. “Flick it is.”
She smiled, small and shy, but a smile nonetheless. He took off his top hat and spun the rim between his fingers. He didn’t know how to be her friend, not when what he felt for her was clearlynotfriendly.
They made small talk as they returned to the club. There were other outings planned for today, but for the morning he could retreat like a coward and pretend he had pressing duties. Once they returned to the club, Tristan went straight to Mrs. Dove-Lyon and asked to go home. Now he sat before her desk, resisting the urge to shift in his seat as she silently observed him from behind her black lace veil.
“I’m afraid now is not the time to visit Edinburgh,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “It pains me to say it, but Miss Brandon’s next suit is more urgent. You said yourself that your brother and sister are in safe hands.”
“They are, but they are young and still confused about why they can’t go home.”
“Why not bring them here?”
“To the club? Or London? Neither is suitable. I can’t keep them in my single room flat. I mean no offense.”
She set her teacup down and leaned back. “Your bother left you with quite the quandary. If you agree to sell Lark Hall, you could buy something for yourself with the remainder.”
“Lark Hall is my home. Four generations are buried there. I won’t sell it.” His great grandfather had risked everything to keep it, and Tristan would not let it go.
“Lord Meed is getting impatient,” she countered.
“Lord Meed can eat his own arse before I see him take ownership ofmyhome. We agreed you’d temporarily claim ownership of the house to absolve my brother’s debt to the den in exchange for my services and for that I am grateful. Iwillpay it back.
“I can only hold the deed for so long. He won it legitimately. It is only because of his own substantial debt to the den that I was able to claim the house as payment against his wishes, but he still wants it. I’m a woman of business, and Meed is gathering the capital necessary to buy Lark Hall at a price it would be difficult to refuse.”
“What of our agreement? I just need time.”
“Time is costly. An empty house is another expense I don’t need. I told you when you came here that I could not hold the house forever.”
“I gave you all the savings I had.”
“Indeed, but that was two years ago. If you would only use your wits and play, you could win your home back legitimately and swiftly.”
“There is nothing legitimate about gambling. It’s chance,” Tristan retorted.
“And skill.”
“What sort of bounder risks his family home on the turn of the card?” Tristan asked in agitation. “My brother, apparently,may his soul rot in a bog. But he isn’t alone in that, now is he? Every night someentitled lord gambles the fate of others for his own amusement. I won’t do it.” Tristan let out a sigh. He was ranting to his employer, the owner of a gaming club. Not a bright idea, but he’d been out of sorts since learning Miss Smith was Felicity.
“You’ve made your distaste clear, Mr. Chase. Let me sell Lark Hall and we can both profit handsomely.”
“It’s out of the question.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon scoffed. “All things worth doing come with great risk. Such is life. Your principles might be the very thing that costs you your home. Now, what I really need to discuss with you is Miss Brandon.”
Tristan bit back a response. He raised a brow. Would he finally know why she was here hiding? It should come from her if they truly were friends, as she claimed.
“It’s hard to protect a woman if I don’t know what I’m protecting her from,” Tristan said.
“I won’t reveal her secrets. She’s had enough taken from her as it is. If she wishes to tell you, she will.”
