Page 23 of Rogue Lyon

“Excellent question,” Jules said. “The two British chaps who collected the work for the Polish monarch found themselves with a homeless collection when the king was forced to abdicate due to partitioning of his land. They considered selling this royal collection, but that didn’t happen, so instead, they built a gallery to house it and have thrown open the doors to the public. Now everyone can enjoy the great masters’ works. Truly remarkable and generous of them.”

“Yes, it really is.”

“Isn’t it just?” He sounded enthused. “And hopefully, it will catch on, not just in London, but worldwide. Imagine if every big city had a beautiful building for the country to house its priceless artwork. Art that belongs to the people and is for the people.”

Her stomach did a little flip of anticipation. “I really am quite excited to get there.”

“You will not be disappointed. Come, we will take a carriage. It is a little too far to walk on such a humid day.”

Soon, they arrived at the gallery. It was a low, brick building with a large arched doorway and few windows.

“Sunlight is very damaging to the paintings,” Jules said as they alighted. “As is the smog.”

“It is quite fresh here.” Nancy nodded, as though approving of the location. “Oh…wait a moment…” She waved frantically. “Emily! Emily! Hey!”

A pretty, young woman with a small, white dog on a lead looked up from a bench. “Oh, Nancy, is that you? What a treat?”

Nancy gripped Meredith’s arm. “You go on in and I’ll find you in a little while. I need to catch up on Emily’s gossip. She is my second cousin and has seen my family recently.”

“Of course, go ahead.” Meredith smiled.

“You don’t mind?”

“No, of course not. The art gallery is a public building, after all.”

“True, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Nancy swung a warning glance at Jules. “You hear me?”

“Moi?” Jules planted his palm on his chest as though utterly shocked. “Never. I am the epitome of chivalry and moral standing.”

Nancy made a humph sound and pecked Meredith on the cheek. Then she was rushing across the lawn to her cousin with a definite spring in her step.

With her hand once again in the crook of Jules’s warm elbow, Meredith stepped into the cool gallery. A large, cylindrical brass container housed umbrellas and she stood hers into it for safekeeping.

The walls of the gallery were lined with dark-wooden panels topped with scarlet paintwork. The high ceiling was decorated with thick cornices and it smelled of polish, dust, and varnish. The air seemed to hang heavier than outside, still and quiet.

“Good day.” Jules nodded at a man seated behind a desk. “Is the Rubens still on display?”

“Naturally. It has become a firm favorite of visitors.”

“I am glad.” Jules took a left and led her through the series of interconnected rooms and past walls of paintings, big and small, all with heavy frames. There were very few people around, which suited Meredith well. “I want to start with a painting by Peter Paul Rubens, dated back to around 1620. He is one of the most famous of the Flemish artists.”

“I haven’t heard of him.” She paused. “But then, I haven’t heard of many artists.”

“You will have by the time I have finished with you.” He stopped and gave her a sinfully irresistible grin. “Now look up. Tell me what you see.”

She did just that and he set his warm palm on the small of her back.

His touch, almost possessive, created a warmth in her that had nothing to do with the brilliance of the painting and everything to do with the magnetizing man who seemed intent on spending time with her.

“What I see is…” She cleared her throat. “A woman running from an ogre of a man.”

“Yes, her father. That is Saint Barbara, and her father locked her in a tower so no one could see her beauty.”

“That’s terrible.” The colors on and around Saint Barbara were ethereal swirls of silver, gray, white, and ochre, yet her father was in red; red like the Devil. Meredith instantly disliked everything about him, his crêpe skin, his brutish arm reaching for his daughter, and the angle of his bearded jaw.

“What does it make you feel?” Jules stepped a little closer, his body heat radiating on her arm.

She suppressed a small tremble of awareness. “I suppose I feel sorry for her. I want her to get away from him.”