Page 67 of Rogue Lyon

Meredith had watched the duel feeling sure she would vomit at any moment. Her guts were in knots.

And when the shots had fired, both she and Nancy had jumped almost off the ground and she’d cried out before slapping her hand over her mouth.

Jules had fallen to his knee and she was sure he’d been shot. Instinct had made her rush from behind the hawthorn to go to him, but Nancy had pulled her back with a swift yank of her arm. “No, you can’t let him find out you’re here!”

“Why not?” She was breathing fast.

“Ladies should not be at a duel, and besides, you have dodged gossip in being associated with him so far. Why invite it now?” Nancy peered through the branches, parting them with her elegant fingers. “But he has not been hit. He is standing, walking.”

“He hasn’t? He is? Are you sure?” Relief washed through her.

“No, no injuries from what I can see from here.”

“Thank the dear Lord above.” Meredith resumed her position peering through the shrubbery and crossed her chest.

“Come on. We shouldn’t linger. We don’t want to be seen here or missed at the Lyon’s Den.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Meredith gathered her hem and dashed into the mist. She released a small giggle as Nancy took her hand and they ran together. The cool, damp air filled her lungs and for a moment, she felt as though she were flying.

Jules was alive. He’d been shot at but had survived.

Her heart could still beat.

“What a morning,” Nancy said as they approached the Lyon’s Den. “You certainly keep life interesting, Meredith.”

“For the first time ever. I have lived so quietly in Wales all of these years, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon had no luck with finding me a match. Yet now…”

“And now?” Nancy stopped and made Meredith turn to face her.

“Now I have no idea how any of this will work out.”

“What do you mean?”

“In my head, I know that we had that one time together, a magical moment in Paris, but my heart… I don’t know.” She paused and shrugged. “Call it women’s intuition, but I don’t think this is over.”

“My dear friend…” Nancy gripped her shoulders tighter. “You cannot think this way. He is a rake, that much is clear, and look at his behavior this morn. Dueling is against the law, but he sees no problem in that.”

“Neither did the Duke of Marlborough.” Meredith pouted.

Nancy’s scowl deepened. “What I’m trying to say is you must put this whole thing down to a folly. Jules Habsburg will be onto the next woman, the next game, the next dodgy deal before you can say, ‘the Tower of London.’”

Meredith closed her eyes. What Nancy said was true, but that didn’t shake the feeling that something momentous was about to happen.

Later that day, Meredith found herself at a loose end. The sun had burned away the early mist, so she decided to walk to the Dulwich Gallery.

It took her a while, but for some reason, her legs were twitchy and walking helped. Perhaps it was the lingering fear and excitement of the morning.

Also, she wondered if Jules might be at the gallery. He’d said it was one of his favorite places to be.

Sadly, she didn’t see him as she wandered the halls, stopping to commiserate with Saint Barbara desperately trying to flee from her evil, controlling father, and then at the painting of David holding up Goliath’s head. Last time she’d been in that exact spot, Jules had been beside her—standing close, telling her the story behind the picture, enchanting her. Making her throw caution to the wind and fall for him.

Before she left, she found herself in a smaller room painted pale green. There were only three paintings on the wall. They appeared to be a set. The first was of a young woman in a beautiful claret gown and a tall hat with a piece of lace hanging from the tip. A knight kneeled at her feet, kissing her hand. Her eyes were closed and her breast pushed at the neckline of her gown. It was as though she were savoring the intimate moment and committing it to memory, taking a deep breath and holding him there in her chest.

Meredith moved to the next painting. It was the same woman, though now she had a rounded, pregnant belly. Her hand was placed protectively upon it and she was looking straight at the artist. The knight was nowhere to be seen.

The final painting showed her seated beside a fire, the swaddled child at her breast as she looked lovingly at it.

Meredith searched for the knight. Was that him? In the background beside the hearth and in the deepest of shadows? The artist had given only the faintest impression of his outline. It could have been a set of wide shoulders, a glint of light on a helmet, or just the exposed bricks of the cottage. It was impossible to know.