Page 63 of Rogue Lyon

Did his heart belong to Meredith?

He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. His heart was thudding, as though answering the question for him.

He breathed deeply and his memory conjured up the scent of her sweet flesh. Petals and powder.

“Oh, dear Lord.” He looked at Maximilian on his glorious steed. “Is this how you felt when you met Mary?” He paused. “It’s compelling. I understand that now.”

But no matter his feelings for Meredith right now. Jules still had to make it alive to midday on Sunday, and that would require either sharp thinking or sharp shooting.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon had had Meredith working the evening she arrived back from Paris and every evening since. With the chess tournament growing ever closer, there were plenty of lessons scheduled. Gentlemen were eager to hone their skills and be in with a chance of the grand prize.

Her third student on Saturday evening was the Duke of Newgale, William Sorrel. Meredith was pleased to witness his chess skills were improving. He’d not only been practicing, but he’d read the book about strategy she’d recommended.

And he was easy company. Polite and intelligent, listening to her instruction and advice as though soaking up each word in for future use.

She sipped a glass of wine as he pondered his next move.

Her eyes felt heavy. She was still tired after her travels.

“Very good,” she said when the duke made a clever reposition of his knight. “I can tell you have analyzed all of my future moves if you make that one.”

“I have.” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

She made her move. An easy one. She could see where this was going.

“Don’t let me win.” He wagged his finger. “I want my victories to be real.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

Eventually, she beat him, but he had been much closer to winning than he had been on previous occasions. “You really are improving.” She stood. “Keep practicing and perhaps you will win the tournament.”

“I can only hope, but can I just state, that you, Meredith, really would beat all of the contestants if you were to play.”

“Sadly, it is a gentleman’s chess tournament.” She shrugged and gave a half-smile.

“Ah, true. How terribly unfair.”

“Isn’t that just the way of life?”

“I would agree.” He slipped on his jacket. “Just as it is unfair for Jules Habsburg right at this moment.”

“I beg your pardon?” She frowned.

“Mr. Jules Habsburg. He is a chess pupil of yours, is he not?”

Her breath hitched. “Yes, he is.”

“Usually, he comes in here after me. Well, I don’t think he will tonight. I suspect your evening of teaching is over.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” A fist of panic gripped her heart. “Has something happened to him?” Please, no. She’d presumed he was perfectly fine and going about his usual art-world business.

“Nothing has happened to him…yet.” The duke shook his head and frowned. “But it seems his gallivanting has finally bit his rather dapper behind.”

She sat heavily, her knees suddenly week. “Please tell me what has happened.”

He tipped his head and studied her as though surprised by her reaction. “The Duke of Marlborough has challenged him to a duel. It seems Mr. Habsburg is refusing to marry his daughter after sullying her reputation.”

Meredith shook her head. “But how… How did he sully her reputation?” Was there something she didn’t know to which the rest of the ton was privy?