Chapter Seven
Jules shook out Meredith’s umbrella then set it in the stand beside his rather grand front door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“It doesn’t look humble.” She stared around the huge entrance hall with wide eyes. “That chandelier is bigger than all of the ones in the gaming room at the Lyon’s Den.”
“Yes, it was a favorite of my mother’s.”
“Tell me about her?”
His heart gave a familiar squeeze. “Not much to tell, really. I never knew her. She died in childbirth.”
Pain flashed over her eyes. “I am so sorry.” She touched the damp sleeve of his jacket.
“My father never wed again; he was too heartbroken. Thus, I have no siblings.”
She sighed and it was as if a real sadness had come over her. “And your father?”
“I lost him several years ago. He was a successful man of business, his finger in many pies, but banking, mainly.”
“You have suffered a lot of loss.” She shook her head. “That is hard for anyone, even more so without family to console you.”
He turned away and shrugged off his jacket. Times had been hard. Not financially—his father had seen to that—but he’d been lonely, lacking a companion of the same mindset as him.
Meredith was quiet, leaving him alone to his thoughts for a few moments. He then pulled in a deep breath and grinned. “I can smell beef stew, can you?”
She tipped her head and sniffed delicately. “I do believe I can.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I suppose a little.”
“Good.” He gestured toward the parlor. “Why don’t you take a seat and I will inform Cook that we are here.”
He found Cook in the large kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. Her round cheeks were red and her hair was making a mad dash for freedom from the white cotton bun she had pinned it into. “It smells delightful,” he said with a grin.
“Oh, there you are, sir. I was wondering where you were in this storm.” The kitchen window lit up with another bright flash.
“I am home now, and I have company. She is hungry. Is the stew ready?”
“Yes, yes, but I have to go. My sister she is sick and…” She tugged off her apron. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t stay and serve you. It’s in the pot on the stove and—”
He held up a hand. “Do not fret. Of course you must go. Francis, isn’t it, your sister?”
“Yes, Francis. I’m so worried. Her little James came to get me an hour ago. But do not fret. The maids have been in and the dusting and cleaning done, the beds are changed and the fires ready to light.”
“Excellent, excellent.” He waved his hand. Dusting and polishing had never been at the forefront of his mind, but it was something Cook insisted upon weekly. “You should go now if you can manage to in this storm and take your sister some stew. Perhaps it will give her strength.”
“Thank you, sir, thank you.”
“I hope she is better soon and take as long as you need. I am a grown man and able to fend for myself for a few days.” He had never been able to tolerate lots of staff in his home. He liked his privacy too much.
“Thank you, sir.”
Jules didn’t envy Cook going out in the storm, but there was little he could do about that. He didn’t have a personal carriage. He preferred the freedom of hiring as he went. Less chance of someone judging his choices of venues for entertainment.
He strode back to the parlor, past a small John Constable he’d recently acquired and a vase of gladioli Cook must have picked from the garden. “Ah, you found the rowel spurs, I see.”
Meredith quickly put the silver spur she was holding back on the shelf, next to its twin. “I am sorry, I… I wasn’t sure what they were. I was curious.”
Jules smiled, pleased that she’d found the one thing in the room that was tied to his Habsburg ancestry. “They belonged to Maximilian. I purchased them in Germany, sometime ago.”
“They are quite something. Heavy.”
“He was famed for his armor and chivalry and known, rather romantically, as ‘the Last Knight.’”
“Really?”
“Yes, he was a master at promoting himself and passionate about preserving his memory as a heroic knight and a man of worldly ambitions.”
“I can see that in you.” She raised her eyebrows.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Well, you too seem to have worldly ambitions, Jules. You have traveled, you collect great art, you have desires to be a champion at chess.” She smiled. “Am I wrong?”
Her smile did strange things to his stomach.
When he’d first met her, she had been so serious, concentrating so hard, much the way she had when presented with some of the paintings at Dulwich.
But when her lips tilted and the amusement went all the way to her eyes, she really was very pretty.
Beautiful, even, though it was clear she had no idea of that.
He walked to the drinks tray and poured two sweet port wines from the crystal decanter. He passed one to her. “I enjoyed our chess lesson very much. In fact, I have another booked for tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes, I do have several.” She took a sip of wine.
“I hope that I am the most favored of your students.”
“The Duke of Newgale is quite charming and a very attentive student.”
A rise of heat went over Jules’s scalp. He knew the Duke of Newgale and would describe him as a handsome and charming chap. Which meant he really didn’t like the thought of his Meredith spending time with him.
His Meredith? Where had that come from? He had no claim upon her. No right to demand she tutor only him.
He pulled in a breath. “Would you like to eat now or shall I show you around?”
“‘Show me around’?”
“The artwork.” He refilled his glass, having drunk his wine without really noticing.
“Yes, please, thank you.” She glanced at the window. It was high above the pavement and looked out at a lush, green park that was now sparkling with raindrops as the sun attempted to peek through a slash in the storm clouds. “The rain is stopping.”
“That is good.” He gestured to the doorway. “After you.”
Once in the hallway, he pointed out a Gainsborough and then a table from China his father had transported back after a visit there. “I’m quite curious,” he said, “to see what you make of my Titian.”
“I have never heard of him.”
“Ah, that is all about to change.” He took her hand and led her to the base of the stairs.
But before she took a step, she hesitated. “Jules.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I cannot go up there with you. It’s quite improper. What if your cook should see us?”
“She is not here.”
“Oh, but you said—” Her eyes widened.
“I honestly thought she would be, but her sister is sick and she has just left.” He leaned closer, so close, he could smell her powdery scent. “The painting is on the wall, just up there. If you want, I could retrieve it, but it is rather heavy and not to mention priceless and—”
“No, please, do not do that on my account.”
He smiled. “It will be worth the risk. I promise you.”
They took the stairs together, Meredith holding the hem of her gown a few inches above her ankles.
For a moment, Jules wondered how he’d feel if he were leading her, as his bride, to the bedchamber for a night of passion.
But he didn’t wonder for long; his cock stiffened and a familiar tug in his groin told him he’d like that very much.
To know this sweet woman flesh to flesh as well as in conversation would suit him very well.
And he’d wager his Titian on the fact that she was a virgin, saving herself for marriage.
Damn shame marriage had never been something he’d entertained.
“Gosh!” She stopped and pressed her hand over her mouth. “That really is rather shocking to have in your home.”
He rubbed his hands together and stepped up the sixteenth-century piece of art. “Isn’t it just! May I introduce to you Venus and Adonis?”
“She is…naked.”
“Yes, and begging him not to go hunting. See how she reaches for him?”
“Yes, clearly, but why doesn’t she want him to go?” She stepped up close to Jules, shoulder to shoulder, and frowned at the painting.
“Because she knows he will be injured, and she’s right. You see these hounds here?” He pointed at two large dogs. “They rouse a boar who turns on Adonis and kills him.”
“Another sad story. All art seems to have sad stories.” She shook her head and sighed.
“Yes, I suppose that is true.” He touched her shoulder and turned her to face him. “And from her lover’s blood,” he whispered, “Venus created a fragile, white flower, an anemone, and let its petals scatter on the wind.”
“She must have been so sad.” Meredith swallowed and her eyes sparkled. “To lose the man she loved.”
“And he must have been sad to be parted from her by death.” Jules cupped Meredith’s cheeks and looked deep into her eyes. “Two people who belong together should be together.”
She nodded and held his gaze.
For a moment, he thought he was falling, falling into her, and then he found his lips on hers, kissing her again.
The compulsion to be close to Meredith, to be part of her, was almost overwhelming and his entire body craved hers, needed hers.
He felt alive with it, inspired, as if the rest of the world had faded until only she existed.
“Jules,” she whispered. “What are you…?”
“You are like no woman I have ever met,” he said against her lips. “You see the world with such wise, compassionate eyes. That has caused me to be in awe of you.”
He felt her small hands grip his shirt to pull him nearer, and, encouraged, he kissed her again. His cock stiffened and he marveled at her delicateness, the taste of wine on her tongue, and the softness of her lips.
He’d enjoy it while it lasted because any moment now, being a fine, upstanding, young woman, she’d bat him aside and admonish his behavior. Until then, he could pretend she was his.
Meredith knew she should stop, rein in the passion she felt in her chest, her belly, and between her legs.
But oh…just one more second, or two, in his arms.
She’d come this far. What did a few more strokes of his tongue, the feel of his heated breath, and hard body matter?