eleven
Morning tea and arguments were an awful combination to start the day, especially since Tristan had spent a troubled night and awakened late, not refreshed at all. He’d barely got dressed before George had ambushed him in the dining room.
“I didn’t want to bother you last night, especially not in front of Rowan, but you still haven’t talked to Winchester.” George was sitting in front of him at the table, ignoring his cup of tea and buttery scone.
Harris shifted his gaze between the two of them.
“You were supposed to talk to him last night. Did you read the newspaper?” George pointed atThe Times,where Tristan’s name had made an appearance on the scandal sheet.
Nothing new. The only novelty was that, for once, they didn’t gossip about his ruthless attitude in business, but about a slow dance with a stunning lady.
His presence had drawn more attention than he’d predicted thanks to his dance with Effie.
“The anarchists planted a bomb in a train station in Birmingham,” Tristan said. “And another one at Liverpool Road Station in Manchester. They’re targeting train stations.”
George leant back. “I read about that. Awful business. But can we talk about Lord Vaughan’s ball? Why didn’t you talk to Winchester?”
He finished his tea and folded the ironed newspaper on the table. “An unforeseen difficulty happened.”
A sweet, very charming unforeseen difficulty that had shown him compassion, understanding—he sniffled, catching a whiff of a pungent smell coming from his abdomen—and iodine. Lots of iodine.
George ran a hand through his greying hair. It might be Tristan’s imagination, but since they’d started to expand their railway company, George’s grey hairs had multiplied.
“Did you go to the ring last night?” George asked in an annoyed tone.
Harris seemed about to say something but remained silent.
The last thing Tristan needed was a double sermon. He rose from the table. “As we ascertained the other night, that’s none of your business.”
George stepped in front of him. He was as tall as Tristan, and his keen gaze saw too much. “I’m worried, and not because your fighting habit compromises your judgement in our business. That filthy place isn’t only illegal but also dangerous. A passing thug could stab you, kill you, and dispose of your body without anyone being the wiser. The moment one of those crooks realises you’re a marquess, you’re as good as dead.”
“That’s ridiculous. The Octagon is a place for boxing. That’s all. It’s safer than a gambling den because there’s no money involved.” Although he’d been stabbed the other night, but George didn’t need to know that.
“What if you get seriously injured? What if they break your spine or neck?”
He leant closer. “That’s part of the thrill.” He sidestepped George to leave the dining room, and the footman opened the door.
“Tristan!” George’s voice sounded sharp.
“What?” He didn’t turn around.
There was an exhale. “Be careful. I mean it.”
Not often did George use that kind, fatherly tone with him, and Tristan never dismissed it.
He turned around to face his father’s best friend. “I will.”
He was always bloody careful, but renouncing the ring wasn’t an option.
He walked out of the room, wishing George would understand. Focusing on his work was easy after a good boxing session, and boxing in a boring, safe gentlemen’s club, where the opponents followed the Marquess of Queensberry Rules, didn’t do anything to silence his twitch. The rowdy, dangerous men at The Octagon were the best cure.
The cut Effie had stitched was still a bit stiff and itched, but every time a pang bothered him, he was reminded of her. He rushed down the corridor but came to a quick stop in the hallway where footsteps sounded.
Effie and her maid gazed up at him. The surprise froze him although Rowan had told him he was going to invite her. Effie’s smile in the morning light was exactly what his life was missing. She was stunning in a rich-maroon gown with burgundy velvet ribbons and a matching hat. Autumn had always been his favourite season.
Why his mind had conjured up that thought was beyond him.
“Lord Montcrest,” she said. “Good morning. I trust you are well.”
