Chapter Four
Jules left the Lyon’s Den and headed north toward Bond Street.
The auction house there had recently diversified from books to art and he very much hoped he’d be in luck for a new Turner, or something similar, for Drake.
He needed to get the thugs off his back.
And with money in his pocket, there was no reason why not, especially with an evening hammer; that time of day seemed to be his sweet spot.
He arrived within ten minutes and found that he had just enough time to look around the lots that would be up for grabs. It wasn’t too busy and that suited him well.
Jingling the coins in his pocket—which was weighted down with them—he hummed a quiet tune. The collection in the first room was good but not quite what he needed.
In the second room, he spotted a Pieter Bruegel, one of his six season paintings, and had to stop himself from getting distracted by the old master.
There was also a beautiful and moody medieval painting of Vienna, Habsburg family central, that was all flat, orange turrets and simple-shaped buildings.
His heart told him it would go wonderfully with his collection, but for once, his head ruled. Besides, the artist was unknown.
And he had to get Drake off his back. Another flee down back alleys was not on his agenda and he should learn his lesson about dealing with corrupt men of business. Their money might be the same color as a gentleman’s, but their knuckles were free and easy with the black and blue.
“Ah, you beauty.” Finally, Jules spotted what he was after. J. M. W. Turner. He was an up-and-coming artist who was becoming more and more popular, hence the reason Drake wanted him on the wall of his Scottish mansion.
Setting back his shoulders and letting out a long exhale, Jules enjoyed the moment of first clapping eyes on a new painting.
This one was a stunner. Over ten years old, but still fresh, it showed the unique skill of the artist in painting skies.
This one was wild and stormy. Black clouds billowed against white and gray and the blue above barely got a look in.
And as for the sailors on the wind-struck boats, they would be surely clinging on for their lives.
They had been almost toppled as the frothy waves bounced along, smashing and crashing the hulls from bow to aft.
The movement in the brushstrokes were exceptional and for a moment, Jules wondered about buying it and keeping it for himself.
Then he remembered being pressed up against the wall as Drake’s thugs had chased him down. He shuddered. Once was enough.
Quickly, he memorized the lot number and then ambled along as if he weren’t especially interested in anything at all. He slipped his gaze over the other dealers and was pleased when no one of note appeared to be there.
Soon, the auctioneer took to his podium, gavel hammer in hand.
Jules took up position near the back of the half-full room. A good vantage point.
The first lot was a small portrait of a noblewoman by Sir Thomas Lawrence. Accomplished, but not Jules’s taste at all. It went for a pretty penny.
The second lot was a dark symbolic piece by William Blake. It also went for a pretty penny, but Jules was sure it would have gone for more had Sotheby’s waited for a full house at the weekend. More fool them.
Or perhaps he was the fool and should have bought it to sell on at a later date.
No, he had to get the Turner for Drake, and because he was using winnings, he’d not feel the punch of it in his wallet.
The Turner came out and there was a rumble of interest, which irritated Jules. The bidding started fast and he waited a few minutes until there were only two bidders in the running. Neither of whom he recognized.
The auctioneer spoke quickly, his keen, expert eyes roaming the room. Eventually, the price reached a point where one bidder dropped out.
Jules joined in and held his nerve, notching up small amounts and sensing what he was up against. Finally, the other man, wearing a peaked cap, shook his head.
“Going. Going. Gone. The chap at the back in the white cravat.” The auctioneer pointed at Jules.
The hammer slammed down and a familiar rush of satisfaction went through Jules. He’d gotten it for a good price. He’d have change from his stash of casino money.
Perhaps he’d used it to buy the enchanting and witty dealer a present to say thank you again for her observational skills. What was her name…? Miss Jones, that was right. Meredith Jones.
A smile tugged his lips as he stepped aside. What an interesting day it had been. Well and truly fascinating.
“Really?” Meredith stared at Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Thank you’ will do.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled from behind her veil, or at least Meredith thought she did. She couldn’t quite see, but the widow’s voice sounded as though there were a smile in it.
“Thank you. Thank you very much. I won’t let you down.” Her heart was thumping with excitement. This was more than she could have hoped would happen.
“I know you won’t let me down, Meredith, because this is important.
I hadn’t thought to throw a chess tournament before you mentioned, it but already, it is gaining traction.
I have twenty-one entrants in just twenty-four hours.
And the lessons you give will be an added financial boost to both of us. ”
“Yes. I do hope so.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon had agreed to give Meredith thirty percent of the earnings from the lessons, which would give her a little nest egg. She needed some money to her name, after all. If nothing else, she could send it home to her mother should she fall on hard times.
“So your first lesson.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon consulted her notepad. “Starts in one hour, with the Duke of Newgale.”
Meredith nodded. “Yes, I’ll be ready.”
“You will conduct the lessons in the gentleman’s private gaming room. I have had Lysander set it up for you.”
“I trust there is a chess set in there.”
“Naturally. A Lund set, the best in all of London.”
Meredith smiled. “Then I am ready.”
“Good girl. And remember, you are the face of the club, my club, when you are with customers. Professionalism at all times. Never forget that.”
“I won’t.”
“And if any of them try any tomfoolery, you let the wolves know. Some of these menfolk might have fancy titles and Bond Street suits, but at the end of the day, men will be men.” She paused and pointed at Meredith.
“They all have a scoundrel lurking within and just waiting to be let out, should the opportunity arise. Mark my words.”
Meredith was a little shocked by the warning—it wasn’t a side of men to which she’d been privy—and hoped she’d have no trouble from the clients choosing to learn chess or improve their chess skills. “Yes, of course. I’ll be careful.”
“But the Duke of Newgale, William Sorrel, shouldn’t give you any trouble. He’s fresh back from his archaeological travels, his mind full of some old Viking settlement he’s discovered. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“Oh, okay.” Meredith stood. “I will prepare myself for his lesson.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon said nothing and ducked her head to a ledger with her feathered pen poised.
Meredith let herself out of the office and nipped up to her attic room. What a curious week it had been. She’d gone from being down in the dumps about her marital status to thoroughly enjoying being a woman with purpose…a woman with a job… Almost.
And chess. She loved chess with a passion. This was hardly going to be work.
The duke turned out to be an exemplary student. He had a basic knowledge of chess and Meredith spent a pleasant hour explaining strategy and tactics. Nothing too complicated but building on the foundation of his knowledge in preparation for his next lesson.
When the lesson came to an end, he dipped his head and thanked her, saying he’d like to have as many lessons as possible before the tournament so that he’d at least have a sporting chance.
Meredith smiled up at him. He was tall and blond with a sprinkling of freckles over sun-kissed skin.
His blue eyes were kind and intelligent and he had a gentle manner.
“I’d be happy to,” she said. “I do believe Mr. W. Lewis has a book on chess available. Perhaps that would be interesting reading for you.” Meredith had a copy of the book and had studied the pages several times over.
“Really? That is very kind of you to suggest.” His face lit. “I will go to Hatchard’s right now and purchase it. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
He strode from the room, his leather shoes clicking on the hard, wooden floor.
Meredith smiled and reset the chessboard ready for her next student. There were no windows in the gentleman’s gaming room and the oil lamps gave a warm, buttery glow. A vase of lavender released a heady scent and she stroked the tiny, blue flowers admiring their delicate petals.
There was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” she called, smoothing down her neat, blue dress and then checking her hair was still up the way Nancy had insisted upon earlier.
The door opened.
A tall, handsome gentleman stepped in, a smile in place and a twinkle in his blue-gray eyes.
Jules Habsburg.
Her heart did a foolish little flip and a rush of heat tickled over her scalp. She couldn’t deny she’d hoped he’d have a lesson, but to be her second pupil? She hadn’t dared wish for that.
“Miss Meredith Jones.” After closing the door with a soft click, he strode over to her.
She held out her hand. He took it and held it in his warm palm.
Once again, his touch sent a little fizz of sensation through her and she locked her knees and set down her shoulders. “Mr. Habsburg.”
“Please, call me ‘Jules.’” He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her flesh.
Her stomach did a funny flutter, as though it were full of butterflies.
“Jules.” She liked the sound of his name on her tongue and wanted to hear hers from his mouth. “And you must call me ‘Meredith,’ then.” She smiled, knowing it was too soon for first names, but she didn’t really care about that rule. “I am glad you have decided to have chess lessons.”
“I would be a fool to miss the opportunity to learn from a master, and it sounds to me that is what you are. Meredith.” He paused and winked. “Given that you said you could beat all the men at the Lyon’s Den.”
She withdrew her hand. “Perhaps I was being a little overconfident, for I do not know the standard of them all.”
“Nothing wrong with confidence; it’s quite alluring.” The flickering light from a tallow candle danced on his face.
Her mouth dried a little and she swallowed. “Would you like a drink?”
“Only if you will join me.”
“Yes, I think I will.” She poured two glasses of claret wine and set them beside the chess set.
“This is a fine set.” He pulled out her chair.
Meredith sat and quickly reached for a drink. The rich, berry flavor spread on her tongue. “Yes, it is a Lund set; he’s an expert to be admired. Fabulous detail on all of the pieces.”
“I agree.” He too sat and reached for his wine. “To chess lessons.” He held up his glass.
“To chess lessons.” She tapped the rim of her glass to his and stared into his eyes. They were full of confidence and humor and something else; she couldn’t decide what.
Perhaps it was the inner scoundrel Mrs. Dove-Lyon had mentioned that she could see. She recalled Nancy telling her about his jaunt onto a private terrace in the dark with a duke’s daughter.
If that kind of behavior wasn’t inviting scandal and gossip, she didn’t know what would.
Yet here she was, alone in a room with him, and no one was saying a word.
Because…and the truth was a little bitter on her tongue…
though she was a gentleman’s daughter, she was not as genteel as the ladies of the ton, and she was doing nothing more than providing a service.
A tutorial service. No scandal here. He wanted to improve his chess and she was being paid to do that.
“So tell me.” She cleared her throat. “What do you know about chess?”
“The goal is to checkmate the opponent’s king, meaning trapping it so it can’t escape capture.”
“Correct.” She nodded.
“Each player controls sixteen pieces.” He pointed to each in turn. “Pawns, rooks, knights, bishops, queen, king. The idea is to capture pieces by landing on their square, and the ultimate aim is to trap the enemy king while protecting your own.”
“Very good. And do you know the direction each piece can move in?”
He smiled. “I do.”
“Okay, why don’t we have a game and see how we get on? I’ll go first, as I have the white pieces.” She started with a classic King’s Pawn move to free up her king and queen.
He nodded and rubbed his chin. He then moved.
Within minutes, they were immersed in the game. Silently sliding the pieces around the checkered board and sipping their wine while the other contemplated.
Meredith didn’t comment on the strength of his moves, but she could quickly tell he had a good grasp of the basics and was employing a certain degree of strategy along the way.
Though as Lysander walked past the closed door, talking loudly to someone, she played her last move that resulted in checkmate.
“Oh, well done.” Jules clapped and sat back. “You got me there.” He laughed. “What a great game you play.”
“I was taking it easy on you.” She shrugged and smiled back. “You made a couple of claptrap moves that I could have taken more advantage of.”
“I did?” He raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”
She proceeded to tell him, at length, and using the board to demonstrate.
“Goodness, you really are a bright spark, Meredith. I can tell I’m going to learn a lot from you.”
“That is the idea.” A honeyed warmth filled her at his praise. “Want to go again? We have time.”
“On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You allow me to refill your glass of wine.”
She hesitated.
“Go on, live a little.” He bit on his bottom lip and held in a mischievous grin.
“Oh, okay. It really is nice wine.”
“Excellent.” He stood and went to the decanter.
Her gaze slid down his lean body, lingering on his wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs. He was the perfect male specimen; his clothes touched him but didn’t restrict and were of the finest quality, and his movement was considered, graceful, and oozed confidence.
It was no wonder he had set tongues wagging for lingering on balconies with unwed debutantes. What kind of woman would walk away?
Not Meredith, that was for certain.
She curled her toes in her shoes and sat up straighter. She had to stop this chain of thought. It was unproductive and would lead to disappointment at best, trouble at worst.
The most sensible thing she could do was to heed Nancy’s warning.
Jules Habsburg was a handsome scoundrel and best kept at arm’s length.