Page 22 of Rogue Lyon

“That was nothing, a misunderstanding.” He flicked his hand.

“I hear you are fond of a boxing match.”

Jules frowned. “As are many gentlemen.”

“And there are rumors of a fake piece of artwork doing the rounds. Seems it’s had your name on it.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He kept the irritation from his voice. “And I would ask that you not spread such spurious gossip yourself… I am sorry. I don’t know your name.”

“Nancy.” She shrugged and stepped back to the door she’d come from. “I am only telling you what I hear, and I hear a lot in the gaming room. Be careful, and don’t you dare tarnish my friend’s reputation. She is a lady, but she is from a simple farming community in West Wales and doesn’t know the ways of roguish Londoners who are too fond of port.”

His mouth hung open. Of all the nerve. When had he ever drunk too much port at the Lyon’s Den? Well, a couple of times, when he’d been on a roll, but not often. Her accusation was hardly fair.

He poked at a stone with his shoe, sending it over the cobbles. He wasn’t so terrible, was he? Not such a scoundrel? All he wanted was to get to know Meredith better. Spend some time with a woman who stimulated his mind and thoughts.

Since his father had died, he’d thrown himself into work and, he’d admit, some hedonistic fun. So what? His father’s banking business paid him a hefty wage without him needing to do more than show his face at board member meetings. He had the time to do as he pleased.

Like today.

Today, it pleased him to see Meredith. He was craving her company.

After ten minutes, the door opened again. Meredith appeared behind her friend. His chess tutor’s hair was pinned up tight and her white dress was heavily sewn with small, red flowers. A red cape rested over her shoulders and she clutched a white umbrella along.

“Here she is,” Nancy said somewhat haughtily. “Delivered as requested.”

“I thank you.” He stepped up to Meredith.

Her cheeks were a little pink, as were her lips. She held out her hand.

He kissed her knuckles over her white gloves and looked deep into her eyes.

She was pleased to see him, he was sure of that, even if her friend wasn’t. But what did that matter? Jules only had eyes for his chess tutor. She was all that mattered. All that he could see.

Chapter Six

Meredith stared at Jules Habsburg as he bowed and kissed the back of her hand. Her heart was thudding. It had been since the moment Nancy had appeared outside her attic room and told her he’d called upon her. Her friend had seemed both vexed and excited as she’d blurted out that Meredith must get into a more fashionable frock and brush her hair.

Meredith almost hadn’t believed what Nancy had been saying, or doing as she’d daubed rouge onto Meredith’s cheeks. Yet here he was, Jules, the sunlight catching in his dark hair and his charm filling the alley in a way that was both magical and forbidden.

“Meredith,” he said, releasing her hand and gesturing to the right. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the new Dulwich Picture Gallery?”

“Art?”

“Yes, it is a gallery of art and houses some truly magnificent works. Pieces I admire very much and would like to share with you. I think you will be most impressed and if it’s not too boastful of me to say it, I will be a perfect guide.”

She looked at Nancy. Was this really happening? Finally, after all of these years, a man, a handsome man, was asking her to step out with him. “What do you think, Nancy?” She hoped she’d hidden the shake of excitement in her voice.

“I can cancel my plans and chaperone,” Nancy said, clearly suppressing a smile as she was attempting to appear disapproving. “I think it would be for the best for both of your reputations.” She looked at Jules as she said the last word. “Don’t you?”

Meredith nodded. “I agree.” She touched her lips and recalled their scandalous kiss. What on earth would Nancy make of that?

“Then it is decided,” Jules said. “A trip to the finest art gallery in all of the ton.”

He held out his elbow for Meredith. She took it and walked in time with him, gripping her umbrella. The sky was heavy in the east, though there was no sign of rain, but even if it didn’t rain, it would give her something to do with her hands should nerves get the better of her.

“The artworks in the Dulwich Picture Gallery were commissioned by the King of Poland,” Jules said.

“Really?” Meredith glanced over her shoulder. Nancy was strolling along several paces behind and looking up at the birds singing in the leafy trees. “So why is it in London and not Poland?”