Page 28 of Rogue Lyon

Once in the hallway, he pointed out a Gainsborough and then a table from China his father had transported back after a visit there. “I’m quite curious,” he said, “to see what you make of my Titian.”

“I have never heard of him.”

“Ah, that is all about to change.” He took her hand and led her to the base of the stairs.

But before she took a step, she hesitated. “Jules.”

“Is there a problem?”

“I cannot go up there with you. It’s quite improper. What if your cook should see us?”

“She is not here.”

“Oh, but you said—” Her eyes widened.

“I honestly thought she would be, but her sister is sick and she has just left.” He leaned closer, so close, he could smell her powdery scent. “The painting is on the wall, just up there. If you want, I could retrieve it, but it is rather heavy and not to mention priceless and—”

“No, please, do not do that on my account.”

He smiled. “It will be worth the risk. I promise you.”

They took the stairs together, Meredith holding the hem of her gown a few inches above her ankles.

For a moment, Jules wondered how he’d feel if he were leading her, as his bride, to the bedchamber for a night of passion. But he didn’t wonder for long; his cock stiffened and a familiar tug in his groin told him he’d like that very much. To know this sweet woman flesh to flesh as well as in conversation would suit him very well.

And he’d wager his Titian on the fact that she was a virgin, saving herself for marriage.

Damn shame marriage had never been something he’d entertained.

“Gosh!” She stopped and pressed her hand over her mouth. “That really is rather shocking to have in your home.”

He rubbed his hands together and stepped up the sixteenth-century piece of art. “Isn’t it just! May I introduce to you Venus and Adonis?”

“She is…naked.”

“Yes, and begging him not to go hunting. See how she reaches for him?”

“Yes, clearly, but why doesn’t she want him to go?” She stepped up close to Jules, shoulder to shoulder, and frowned at the painting.

“Because she knows he will be injured, and she’s right. You see these hounds here?” He pointed at two large dogs. “They rouse a boar who turns on Adonis and kills him.”

“Another sad story. All art seems to have sad stories.” She shook her head and sighed.

“Yes, I suppose that is true.” He touched her shoulder and turned her to face him. “And from her lover’s blood,” he whispered, “Venus created a fragile, white flower, an anemone, and let its petals scatter on the wind.”

“She must have been so sad.” Meredith swallowed and her eyes sparkled. “To lose the man she loved.”

“And he must have been sad to be parted from her by death.” Jules cupped Meredith’s cheeks and looked deep into her eyes. “Two people who belong together should be together.”

She nodded and held his gaze.

For a moment, he thought he was falling, falling into her, and then he found his lips on hers, kissing her again. The compulsion to be close to Meredith, to be part of her, was almost overwhelming and his entire body craved hers, needed hers. He felt alive with it, inspired, as if the rest of the world had faded until only she existed.

“Jules,” she whispered. “What are you…?”

“You are like no woman I have ever met,” he said against her lips. “You see the world with such wise, compassionate eyes. That has caused me to be in awe of you.”

He felt her small hands grip his shirt to pull him nearer, and, encouraged, he kissed her again. His cock stiffened and he marveled at her delicateness, the taste of wine on her tongue, and the softness of her lips.