Page 54 of Rogue Lyon

“The art world is more dangerous than ever before.” Jules paused. “Especially if art is stolen.”

Belmont glanced at the entrance to the room. “Stolen from whom, though? The palace was sacked by Napoleon and his army.”

“Yes, but a king sits upon a throne again. Is this not his artwork?”

“He has not asked for it.” Belmont huffed.

“Because likely, he does not know of its existence.”

Belmont twisted his lips and his jowls wobbled. He frowned at the painting and then at Jules.

“But I will make you an offer.” Jules leaned close to him. “I will pay you one hundred and fifty, and I will give you my word that it will never be connected to you should questions be asked.”

Belmont’s eyes bulged. “How can I be sure you will not utter my name?”

“You have my word.” Jules held out his hand. “Plus, I will pay you cash today, and you can have it delivered by one of your staff to room nineteen at our hotel. It must be securely wrapped in brown paper and string and you will tell no one of our arrangement. Absolutely no one.” He stepped up to the painting and studied the signature and the brush strokes. He held in a smile. Definitely an original, definitely a painting on which he could double his money back in London; unless he wanted to keep a piece of history for himself, that was.

Meredith was looking at him with wide eyes.

“You do not approve?” he asked her and then he wondered why he wanted her opinion.

“It is not my place to approve or not. This is your business.”

“I wish you to be honest.” He hoped she wouldn’t judge him for taking something looted during a revolution. He was paying good money for it—his own money—after all.

She studied him and tipped her head. “All right, if you must know, I preferred the street painting we saw of our hotel. It is prettier.”

Jules laughed, relieved it was a simple answer for once. “Oh, my love, you are so right, but people with deep pockets don’t pay money for pretty; they pay for the signature at the bottom.” He pointed to it. “And this is a very fine signature.”

“I am still learning.” She nodded at Belmont. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And you too. Miss…?”

“Meredith Jones.” She turned and left the room.

Jules’s mouth dried a little. She’d appeared happy to be Meredith Habsburg the day before, but it seemed that had changed. As the morning moved on, if felt like she’d ceased being his.

He’d have to fix that situation. Fast.

“Good sir, thank you for your custom,” Belmont said. “I will ensure this painting is in your hotel room within hours.”

Jules handed him some cash. “The rest upon delivery.”

“As it should be.”

“And one more thing. If a Mr. Delaware asks after me or any François Gérard works, plead ignorance. I haven’t been here and you have no works by the artist.”

“Understood.”

Jules caught up with Meredith, who was walking through a gallery with dark-green walls.

She stopped beside a large painting of a knight on a fabulous white horse. His armor was exquisite and his sword glinted in the sun. He was surrounded by people, villagers, and behind him were low hills and cropped fields.

Jules’s heart stuttered.

“Who is this by?” Meredith asked without looking at him. “I can’t see a signature.”

“I… I have no idea.”