Page 14 of Rogue Lyon

“Miss Jones, I thank you. You’ve helped me out today more than I can tell you. I am in your debt.” He pressed his hand to his chest, connecting his jacket to his broad torso, and gave her a smile that was both charming and wicked. “I hope we meet again.”

She watched him leave and a new wave of excitement caught in her belly. He hoped they’d meet again? Had he just been saying that or had he meant it?

She hoped he’d meant it.

Chapter Four

Jules left the Lyon’s Den and headed north toward Bond Street. The auction house there had recently diversified from books to art and he very much hoped he’d be in luck for a new Turner, or something similar, for Drake. He needed to get the thugs off his back. And with money in his pocket, there was no reason why not, especially with an evening hammer; that time of day seemed to be his sweet spot.

He arrived within ten minutes and found that he had just enough time to look around the lots that would be up for grabs. It wasn’t too busy and that suited him well.

Jingling the coins in his pocket—which was weighted down with them—he hummed a quiet tune. The collection in the first room was good but not quite what he needed.

In the second room, he spotted a Pieter Bruegel, one of his six season paintings, and had to stop himself from getting distracted by the old master. There was also a beautiful and moody medieval painting of Vienna, Habsburg family central, that was all flat, orange turrets and simple-shaped buildings. His heart told him it would go wonderfully with his collection, but for once, his head ruled. Besides, the artist was unknown.

And he had to get Drake off his back. Another flee down back alleys was not on his agenda and he should learn his lesson about dealing with corrupt men of business. Their money might be the same color as a gentleman’s, but their knuckles were free and easy with the black and blue.

“Ah, you beauty.” Finally, Jules spotted what he was after. J. M. W. Turner. He was an up-and-coming artist who was becoming more and more popular, hence the reason Drake wanted him on the wall of his Scottish mansion.

Setting back his shoulders and letting out a long exhale, Jules enjoyed the moment of first clapping eyes on a new painting. This one was a stunner. Over ten years old, but still fresh, it showed the unique skill of the artist in painting skies. This one was wild and stormy. Black clouds billowed against white and gray and the blue above barely got a look in. And as for the sailors on the wind-struck boats, they would be surely clinging on for their lives. They had been almost toppled as the frothy waves bounced along, smashing and crashing the hulls from bow to aft. The movement in the brushstrokes were exceptional and for a moment, Jules wondered about buying it and keeping it for himself.

Then he remembered being pressed up against the wall as Drake’s thugs had chased him down. He shuddered. Once was enough.

Quickly, he memorized the lot number and then ambled along as if he weren’t especially interested in anything at all. He slipped his gaze over the other dealers and was pleased when no one of note appeared to be there.

Soon, the auctioneer took to his podium, gavel hammer in hand.

Jules took up position near the back of the half-full room. A good vantage point.

The first lot was a small portrait of a noblewoman by Sir Thomas Lawrence. Accomplished, but not Jules’s taste at all. It went for a pretty penny.

The second lot was a dark symbolic piece by William Blake. It also went for a pretty penny, but Jules was sure it would have gone for more had Sotheby’s waited for a full house at the weekend. More fool them.

Or perhaps he was the fool and should have bought it to sell on at a later date.

No, he had to get the Turner for Drake, and because he was using winnings, he’d not feel the punch of it in his wallet.

The Turner came out and there was a rumble of interest, which irritated Jules. The bidding started fast and he waited a few minutes until there were only two bidders in the running. Neither of whom he recognized.

The auctioneer spoke quickly, his keen, expert eyes roaming the room. Eventually, the price reached a point where one bidder dropped out.

Jules joined in and held his nerve, notching up small amounts and sensing what he was up against. Finally, the other man, wearing a peaked cap, shook his head.

“Going. Going. Gone. The chap at the back in the white cravat.” The auctioneer pointed at Jules.

The hammer slammed down and a familiar rush of satisfaction went through Jules. He’d gotten it for a good price. He’d have change from his stash of casino money.

Perhaps he’d used it to buy the enchanting and witty dealer a present to say thank you again for her observational skills. What was her name…? Miss Jones, that was right. Meredith Jones.

A smile tugged his lips as he stepped aside. What an interesting day it had been. Well and truly fascinating.

“Really?” Meredith stared at Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“‘Thank you’ will do.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled from behind her veil, or at least Meredith thought she did. She couldn’t quite see, but the widow’s voice sounded as though there were a smile in it.

“Thank you. Thank you very much. I won’t let you down.” Her heart was thumping with excitement. This was more than she could have hoped would happen.

“I know you won’t let me down, Meredith, because this is important. I hadn’t thought to throw a chess tournament before you mentioned, it but already, it is gaining traction. I have twenty-one entrants in just twenty-four hours. And the lessons you give will be an added financial boost to both of us.”