Page 71 of Rogue Lyon

“But please, I…”

“Go!” She shoved at his shoulder and his balance faltered, making him step halfway through the door.

Meredith made the most of it and shoved him again before slamming it shut.

Then she crumpled, down to her knees, her gown ballooning around her as she held back the loud sobs she wanted to release. They would have to wait until later, when she was in the privacy of her room.

Jules stared at the slammed door. His cheek stung and frustration clawed at him. What on earth had just happened?

Out of all the women he’d ever met, Meredith was the only one he’d asked to be his mistress. He adored her, wanted to be with her, missed her whenever they were apart, and the thought of having her in his bed gave him a wonderful sense of fulfilment, of belonging.

But it seemed she didn’t want that.

Not one bit.

“Meredith. Miss Jones.” He banged on the door. “Open up, please.”

“Sir, has your lesson ended?” a firm, deep voice asked.

Jules spun to see Lysander standing before him with his hands on his hips.

“Yes, but…”

“So time is up.” Lysander stepped aside and nodded at the entrance.

“We have unfinished business.”

“Then you must book another lesson, Mr. Habsburg.” Lysander’s voice was deep and gruff. “Though it is getting rather too near to the tournament for that.”

“Exactly! Which is why…”

“I will not ask you to leave again. Unless, of course, you wish to go into the casino?”

“No, not tonight.” Jules frowned. It felt as though a lead weight were pulling him down and he didn’t want company to see that. He was best off in his own company if Meredith didn’t want him. “So I will bid you goodnight.” He stepped past the painting of the boy with his pet rabbit. Once out on the dark street, he was met with drizzly rain.

The lamps were lit and buttery light spilled onto the wet cobblestones. Jules pulled up his collar and shoved his hands into his pockets. He stomped toward The Mall, his emotions pinging around his body. He was angry and confused and didn’t know how to fix the situation.

After his mother had died, Jules’s father had had a mistress. He’d kept her in a lavish apartment in Kensington, dined there often, and a few times, they’d taken trips together to the Scottish Highlands. It had been a discreet relationship, but Jules had known it to be a close and satisfying one for his father, who had never wanted to remarry.

Why couldn’t Meredith see that it was a good solution for a man who didn’t want to marry? She wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. He’d take excellent care of her and see that she had everything she ever wanted.

He turned a corner and walked past a man smoking a pipe. The rich tobacco smell filled his nose and he decided to light his own when he returned home. Perhaps that would calm his fractured nerves and help him think straight.

Chapter Seventeen

It was the night of the chess tournament and Jules was both excited and nervous.

He hadn’t had any more lessons with Meredith. Selling the François Gérard had taken him far north, but it had been worth several days of bone-rattling, teeth-jarring traveling, as he’d made more than double by selling it to the Duke of Farrington, a fabulously wealthy man who lived in a castle on a hill and had a penchant for poetry despite being built like a lumberjack.

The duke had been a charming host and Jules had dined on pheasant in his company and that of his wife, a keen artist herself, and the duke’s energetic sister.

But now here he was, back in London and flexing his fingers, ready for his turn in the tournament. His mind was full of moves and strategies—the Queen’s Gambit, Ruy Lopez, and Sicilian Defense—and he wanted to empty his brain of everything so that he could concentrate to his maximum ability.

It was not an easy task, though. The Lyon’s Den’s main gambling room was full to the brim with spectators. Who knew chess could draw such an audience? The bar staff was taking a pretty packet and he could see wagers being placed on who would win the grand prize.

The stage was set with a wooden table and two straight-backed chairs. On it sat a brass clock and a marble chess set that was currently being played by two men Jules didn’t recognize. It was a sudden-death game, so whoever won stayed seated until someone else beat him. A member of the wolf pack stood beside the table, a judicator of sorts, Jules imagined.

He sipped on an elderflower cordial, no wine for him this evening despite the fact that it would calm his nerves.