Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“You?”
Tristan looked the young man up and down, suddenly realizing thathe wasn’t a man after all.
He’d been wondering about it all night, actually.
As the host of the Devil’s Masquerade, he had grown accustomed to the unchecked energies of both the feminine and the masculine, and this painter before him had radiated with pure feminine energy despite the shabby masculine clothing.
His voice had also been questionable, and been reaching higher tones as they night had worn on.
Still, even if he’d suspected that they were a woman in disguise, he never would have guessed that was Ophelia.
“Take off your mask,” he demanded.
“You take off yours,” Ophelia countered.
She had lost the false, deep tone in her voice, and just by the haughty way she said those four words, Tristan’s suspicion’s were confirmed.
“I am not the one making threats here,” he replied with haste.
“I would not have to make threats if you weren’t so prone to priggish perfectionism!”
Tristan rolled his eyes, certain now that it was his little sister’s annoying best friend.
He reached for her mask, ignoring the way she batted at his hand, and plucked it off of her face.
An oval face with a creamy, clean complexion, high cheek bones smattered with light brown freckles, a small sharp nose.
Those thick eyelashes surrounding her judgmental green yes.
Ophelia’s unmistakable features came into view.
“Oh,” he chuckled darkly, shaking his head as she glared at him. “Oh, I knew you were a strange one, but I had no idea you were this strange.”
“Says the man who operates a dallying club,” Ophelia shot back. Quick as a rabbit, she reached forward and snatched his mask off of her face, looking entirely too smug as his face was made bare.
“I knew it,” she goaded. “I knew it was you.”
Tristan grit his teeth in annoyance, teetering on a precarious situation.
No one, not even his closest friends, had ever recognized him during a party.
Even when they’d been standing in the same room, he’d gone unnoticed.
Precious few knew his secret, and that was only because they had as much to lose as he did.
“How?” he grit out.
Ophelia’s cheeks turned crimson so quickly that for a moment he was more amused than annoyed.
“Never you mind,” she answered crossly. “Now, are you going to give me the commission or not?”
“No!” He boomed with a ridiculing laugh.
“Are you mad? It is bad enough that I have to hide from the rest of our friends in here, you want me to allow you, the only person who knows who I actually am, flitting about? Besides, it would be completely inappropriate.”
“In- inappropriate?” She questioned with a flabbergasted expression. “You are the one responsible for these masquerades! Furthermore, I am the only one of our circle that does not come here. Even Theo has visited this place.”
Tristan grimaced.
“Please do not remind me that my sister and her husband have been here. But that is precisely my point. She attends with her husband. All of your friends attend with their husbands.”
“Amelia attended before she was married,” Ophelia pointed out, crossing her arms, “As did Theo.”
Tristan ran a frustrated hand through his slicked-back hair, hating that she was right.
“That was a gross oversight,” he grunted.
“I have many people under me who only know me as the Devil. They had no idea that Theo was my sister or that Amelia was her friend. And furthermore, just because I made such a mistake in the past does not mean that I will do so again. Especially since I know who you are.”
Ophelia let out a snarl as she fisted her hands and glared at him.
“You do not understand, I need this commission, Tristan,” she insisted. A look of worry took over her angry expression, and she brought her hands together, rubbing them.
“I can do better,” she said, softer this time. “I was nervous before, with you watching over my shoulder. The agency obviously showed you my portfolio. You have seen what I can do. Let me try again.”
“Why?” He asked, taking a step closer. “Why do you need this commission so badly?”
Ophelia shook her head, her gaze to the floor.
“I will not say.” She stated.
Though he wanted push for answer, Tristan chose to let it go for the moment.
“This project is dangerous for you, Ophelia,” he warned, trying to dissuade her. “If you were caught, it could ruin your reputation!”
“Oh, please,” she snickered, “You have never cared about or for me, do not pretend to do so now!”
“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 have both evaded the public eye for years. And we have done so very well.”
Tristan sighed, studying the imploring look on her face. He’d never seen 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, and truly show 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 the ton of 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.
“This little dress up thing you have will not do. I will send you proper clothes and proper 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 believe all women 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 will not do 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 will not argue with me. You will respect 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.”
He moved to walked past her, and Ophelia touched his arm. He glared back at her, ready for another quip, but he found her green eyes full of gratitude.
“Thank you, my Lord,” she said, her tone respectful.
Tristan bristled at her change in behavior, not used to it. He grunted, pulled his arm away, and went to arrange the carriage.