Page 53 of Rogue Lyon

“So it is.”

“I like that.” She folded her arms. “Art shouldn’t be dominated by men. Women are very creative too.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” He smiled at her dogged expression. It would take a braver man than him to argue that point with her.

“And what about this one?” He pointed at an oil painting of Notre Dame.

“It’s beautiful. Where is it? In Paris?”

“Yes.” He loved that she always had a question for him. “And it’s not far from here. If you like, we could take a walk there before we return to London.”

“I would like that very much.”

“Mr. Habsburg, what a pleasant surprise.”

Jules turned at the sound of his name. It was Monsieur Belmont, the owner of the gallery. “Greetings.” He held out his hand. “Fine exhibition you have.”

“And hopefully some fine purchases for you.” The man shook Jules’s hand. His fingers were podgy, much like his face, which was redder than it had been the last time Jules had seen him. His penchant for steak and port clearly wasn’t waning.

“If by ‘fine,’ you mean ‘hard to come by,’ then yes, I hope so.”

“Hard to come by.” Belmont nodded. “You are a man who plays on the edge, am I right?”

“You know me well.” Jules chuckled. “Though please don’t throw me in the same sack as Caravaggio.” He glanced at Meredith.

She smiled at him and his heart beat a little faster for a few seconds. He was enjoying having her with him for this.

“Of course not, Mr. Habsburg. What a rogue Caravaggio was, indeed. But please, come through to the back room.” He smiled at Meredith and pulled out a key. “Both of you. I would be most enchanted.”

“Thank you.” Meredith nodded and cupped her hands, hiding the fake wedding ring. Was she embarrassed of it now?

Jules pressed his lips together and followed Belmont with Meredith at his side.

Once in a small room with a heavy door leading to the rest of the gallery, Belmont indicated a dark painting of a battle scene complete with horses, finely dressed cavalrymen, and the dead and dying underfoot.

Jules recognized it instantly. It was a François Gérard and the painting for which Mr. Delaware was no doubt on the hunt.

“How did that end up here?” he asked Belmont, trying to keep the excitement from his voice.

“It was at the Palace of Versailles. But of course, with the revolution, these things find new homes.”

“Of course.” Jules nodded and tapped his chin with his finger. “New homes.”

“It is rather grizzly.” Meredith studied the lower half of the painting.

“Probably best not to worry yourself,” Belmont said to her.

“I am not worried. It is a painting, and beautifully done. I’m just not sure I’d enjoy it hanging over me while taking afternoon tea.”

Belmont raised his eyebrows. “You have a point, young lady.”

“How much do you want for it?” Jules asked.

“I am expecting two hundred.”

“A lot.” Jules continued to tap his chin. “For a painting with suspect transit from a palace.”

Belmont frowned. “That is the art world now.”