Page 27 of Rogue Lyon

“Yes, yes, but I have to go. My sister she is sick and…” She tugged off her apron. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t stay and serve you. It’s in the pot on the stove and—”

He held up a hand. “Do not fret. Of course you must go. Francis, isn’t it, your sister?”

“Yes, Francis. I’m so worried. Her little James came to get me an hour ago. But do not fret. The maids have been in and the dusting and cleaning done, the beds are changed and the fires ready to light.”

“Excellent, excellent.” He waved his hand. Dusting and polishing had never been at the forefront of his mind, but it was something Cook insisted upon weekly. “You should go now if you can manage to in this storm and take your sister some stew. Perhaps it will give her strength.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you.”

“I hope she is better soon and take as long as you need. I am a grown man and able to fend for myself for a few days.” He had never been able to tolerate lots of staff in his home. He liked his privacy too much.

“Thank you, sir.”

Jules didn’t envy Cook going out in the storm, but there was little he could do about that. He didn’t have a personal carriage. He preferred the freedom of hiring as he went. Less chance of someone judging his choices of venues for entertainment.

He strode back to the parlor, past a small John Constable he’d recently acquired and a vase of gladioli Cook must have picked from the garden. “Ah, you found the rowel spurs, I see.”

Meredith quickly put the silver spur she was holding back on the shelf, next to its twin. “I am sorry, I… I wasn’t sure what they were. I was curious.”

Jules smiled, pleased that she’d found the one thing in the room that was tied to his Habsburg ancestry. “They belonged to Maximilian. I purchased them in Germany, sometime ago.”

“They are quite something. Heavy.”

“He was famed for his armor and chivalry and known, rather romantically, as ‘the Last Knight.’”

“Really?”

“Yes, he was a master at promoting himself and passionate about preserving his memory as a heroic knight and a man of worldly ambitions.”

“I can see that in you.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, you too seem to have worldly ambitions, Jules. You have traveled, you collect great art, you have desires to be a champion at chess.” She smiled. “Am I wrong?”

Her smile did strange things to his stomach. When he’d first met her, she had been so serious, concentrating so hard, much the way she had when presented with some of the paintings at Dulwich. But when her lips tilted and the amusement went all the way to her eyes, she really was very pretty. Beautiful, even, though it was clear she had no idea of that.

He walked to the drinks tray and poured two sweet port wines from the crystal decanter. He passed one to her. “I enjoyed our chess lesson very much. In fact, I have another booked for tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, I do have several.” She took a sip of wine.

“I hope that I am the most favored of your students.”

“The Duke of Newgale is quite charming and a very attentive student.”

A rise of heat went over Jules’s scalp. He knew the Duke of Newgale and would describe him as a handsome and charming chap. Which meant he really didn’t like the thought of his Meredith spending time with him.

His Meredith? Where had that come from? He had no claim upon her. No right to demand she tutor only him.

He pulled in a breath. “Would you like to eat now or shall I show you around?”

“‘Show me around’?”

“The artwork.” He refilled his glass, having drunk his wine without really noticing.

“Yes, please, thank you.” She glanced at the window. It was high above the pavement and looked out at a lush, green park that was now sparkling with raindrops as the sun attempted to peek through a slash in the storm clouds. “The rain is stopping.”

“That is good.” He gestured to the doorway. “After you.”