To Catch A Rogue (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 4)

by Bec McMaster

  A cool body stepped between her and the wind, leaving her cocooned in the sudden void.

  "Breathe," Charlie told her, resting his hand on the middle of her back. "Don’t worry so much. We’ve taken every precaution we can."

  He didn't understand.

  The world she had once known—loving parents, brothers and sisters, a home—had been stolen from her in the space of a single night.

  "I am breathing," she said, opening her eyes and swallowing the pain. She'd been trying to avoid him as much as possible in the last few days, but the cramped quarters on deck made it practically impossible. "You look better than you did yesterday."

  He winced. "That was Barrons's fault. The captain invited several of us to dine with him, and someone opened the bottle of vodka. One bottle of vodka became lots of bottles of vodka. The captain's got an iron stomach."

  She couldn't resist a small smile. "You were singing. Badly."

  "I always sing badly."

  "Aye. I'm fairly certain Blade had to put you to bed."

  "Were you checking up on me?"

  "It was the middle of the night. I couldn't help being aware of it. From the sound of it, Blade fell on his ass at some point."

  "Well, he wasn't in much better condition than I was, and he was trying to get his boots off, I believe. I woke up with mine still on. My trousers were around my ankles, but apparently, I couldn’t get them over my boots."

  "Two grown men who could barely put themselves to bed." Lark snickered. "You looked positively green yesterday."

  "Lark," he growled under his breath. "Can we pretend that never happened?"

  It was the one thing putting a smile on her face today.

  "Never, my dear sugarplum," she promised.

  Charlie groaned. "Who told you about that?"

  "Well, Kincaid and Byrnes have a habit of calling you that, so I asked Ingrid why." Lark reached up and patted him on the cheek. "She told me some story about how Gemma christened you "sugarplum" because you're so sweet."

  "I will throw you overboard if you mention that word ever again," he growled.

  "Now Charlie, that's not very nice. Whatever would Gemma and the others think? You've managed to fool them so well...." Lark burst into laughter at the look on his face.

  "Are you done?" he asked, once her laughter finally subsided.

  Which set her off again, a fact Charlie studiously pretended to ignore as he surveyed the city below them. "So this is Russia."

  Just like that, her mirth vanished.

  "This is Russia." She took a deep breath. "What's the plan?"

  "We're part of the diplomatic party so we have to play nice," Charlie replied, leaning on his elbows on the rail beside her as the airship began to descend. The little figures on the ground started growing larger. "Gemma's been running Malloryn's spy network into the ground for weeks now. One of his Russian-based agents is going to liaise with us once we arrive. He said Lord Balfour is masquerading as Vladimir Feodorevna, the consort of Grand Duchess Tatiana Feodorevna."

  "He married a member of the Imperial family?"

  "She's a great-granddaughter of the tsarina, I believe."

  The immensity of the task ahead of them finally struck her. "If he has the power of the tsarina behind him...."

  "I doubt it. Balfour's slippery. He prefers to stay in the background and pull strings. He'll either ingratiate himself with those in power, or blackmail them. It's highly unlikely he's managed to extend his grip to reach the tsarina in the three years since he was forced out of England. Luther—our agent on the ground—has a list of every building Feodorevna owns, so we're going to start there."

  "Why would you risk everything to save one man?"

  "Would you come to Russia if it were Blade who'd been taken?"

  "Without a doubt. But Blade... he's an honorary uncle. I love him. I would wade through rivers of blood for him. From what I've heard this week, this duke you're trying to rescue is a dangerous, manipulative bastard. And that was said fondly."

  "You've been listening to Byrnes." The wind lifted some of Charlie's moonbeam-pale hair as he rested his elbows on the rail. He glanced at her, blue eyes wide and striking. "I'm here because Rogues don't leave Rogues behind. The Duke of Malloryn was trying to rescue Gemma and Obsidian when he was captured. He's cold and aloof, but occasionally you catch a glimpse of his humanity. He's the first to run into a burning building to pull others out. He would do it for us."

  And Charlie had a core of loyalty that was unshakeable.

  She looked at him, her heart aching a little.

  She hadn't realized, until this moment, that Charlie had moved on. All week he'd interacted with these people with an easy, intimate manner. He was never coming back to the rookeries. He was never going to be one of Blade's enforcers. He considered himself a Rogue now.

  Blade had known. He'd tried to tell her.

  But she had the breathless feeling that Charlie had somehow moved beyond her reach, and even though she'd been the one to encourage it, the loss felt like another knife to the heart.

  This was his new family, and she didn't belong here.

  "There she is," Charlie breathed as the airship broke through wispy clouds.

  An enormous palace spread beneath them, gleaming a pale yellow in the weak sunlight. Gilt painted the cornices of the windows, and fountains spilled through the gardens, though the trees were now bare. Every inch of the place had been built on a massive scale and designed to both intimidate and cause wonder.

  "I've never seen anything like it," Charlie whispered.

  I have. She could recall the sweeping estates of Illarion Palace far to the south as if she'd seen them only yesterday. And the palace in Saint Petersburg had been a glory of architecture, filled with secret passages and ornate ballrooms.

  A far cry from the rookeries.

  Men shouted. The grounds crew started working to land the airship, and Charlie and Lark moved out of the way as the airship began to lower.

  A group of gentlemen and ladies wearing bright colors swarmed out onto the stone balcony overlooking the gardens, lifting champagne glasses and pointing.

  It was morning.

  "A little early, isn't it?" Charlie muttered.

  "Could be vodka," she replied, searching faces for any hint of familiarity and relaxing when she found none. "At least they're not drinking blood."

  Because the Crimson Court preferred their blood straight from the vein. Nothing like the Echelon's propensity for blood taxes or thrall contracts. No, nothing as polite as that.

  The little hollow chill in the center of her abdomen was back.

  It took almost ten minutes for them to land the airship at the docking stations set up on the south lawns. Two other airships were tethered there, bobbing up and down in the breeze.

  The rest of the party joined them, suddenly serious and sober as a group of people walked out to meet them.

  "Are we all ready?" Gemma asked. "Because there's no turning back now."

  "To the end of the journey," Ingrid said, her bronze eyes flaring with heat as she surveyed the brightly clothed group.

  "To the end of the journey," the others echoed.

  "No Rogue left behind," Charlie murmured.

  And then they were exiting the airship behind Lord Barrons. Lark faded into the background, tucked close to Charlie. Blade hadn't made an appearance. He'd said something about Balfour not needing to know he was here.

  "Greetings," Barrons called in Russian, walking forward to greet the Russians with Gemma on his arm.

  "Ah, Lord Barrons," said a crisp, Eton-accented voice in perfect English as the crowd parted. A tall, pale-haired man stepped through, smiling like a shark. "What an absolute delight. We're so pleased you could make it."

  Gemma's head snapped up as the group of Russians parted and Lord Balfour stepped through, leaning heavily on a silver-tipped cane.

  It had been years since she'd last seen him.

  This man had created the Falcon
s who'd served as his assassins over the years. He'd had them set up the school that bought young children like her when their parents could no longer afford to feed them, and turned them into killers. And then he'd thrown her life away when he sent her to assassinate the Duke of Malloryn because she looked like the woman Malloryn once loved.

  It had all been a ploy.

  Malloryn had been meant to kill her, her death nothing more than a spiteful game between the two of them, but instead he'd chosen to show her mercy.

  She hated this man more than anything else in life, and it made her knife hand twitchy.

  "Relax," Obsidian murmured at her side, his hand coming to rest in the center of her lower back. "We all knew we'd see him here. This is just the beginning of the game."

  Yes, but I was hoping to have a chance to get my feet under me first.

  "Welcome to my humble estate." Balfour gestured to the palace behind him, but those black eyes never left them. If he'd been at all surprised to see them, he revealed no sign of it.

  "Balfour," Barrons greeted, stepping forward and drawing attention.

  "I'm sorry." Balfour frowned faintly. "My name is Vladimir Feodorevna. I'm afraid you must have mistaken me for someone else."

  Barrons gave a thin smile. "My apologies. You reminded me of a man I once knew. Probably not a compliment, for he was a vicious, lying snake, but you look very like him."

  The elegant young woman at his side frowned, and asked, in heavily accented English, "What did he say?"

  "Quite all right, my dear," Balfour told her in Russian, patting her arm. "I shall finish greeting our guests. You should freshen up. I’m told your sisters were spotted near the gate."

  Tatiana Feodorevna took her leave, deliberately snubbing them.

  Balfour turned back to her.

  "Miss Gemma Townsend, I presume," Balfour murmured, a twinkle in his eyes. "Or was it Lady Hollis Beechworth? I can never keep it all straight."

  "Lady Hollis Beechworth," she replied, "for the moment. You might remember her. I believe we’ve met."

  "Ah, yes." He looked amused. "She caused me a great deal of trouble five years ago."

  "I like to think my efforts last month superseded those moments."

  His smile softened, like an uncle who was mildly pleased with something she'd done. "It was very frustrating to lose my entire London enterprise. Thankfully, my dearest Dido brought me a consolation gift. It's cheered me up considerably."

  This time, Obsidian had to forcibly restrain her.

  Balfour's smile looked even more smug.

  "This is my second-in-command," Balfour gestured to the pale-haired woman at his side, wearing a long red velvet coat with gold embroidery on the sleeves, and tight trousers. "Dido, do be a dear and show our guests to their rooms. We've been anticipating your arrival for weeks now."

  The dhampir woman who'd kidnapped Malloryn glided forward, locking eyes with Gemma. "I'm going to kill the pair of you for what you did to Ghost," she murmured, barely moving her lips.

  "You're welcome to try." Gemma's smile never slipped. "As did he. Look who's still standing."

  "Dido." Balfour cleared his throat.

  The woman gracefully gestured them toward the house. "Unfortunately, we'd made provisions for the diplomatic party we expected to arrive. Whilst there is room enough in the palace for at least four couples, the rest will have to make do with accommodations near the stables and in the servants quarters."

  Time to start playing the game.

  Gemma's smile froze. "This is unacceptable."

  "Apologies," Balfour said. "We were expecting Sir Gabriel Scott and his party of seven, with servants. With the rest of Europe sending emissaries, suites in the palace are at a premium."

  How droll.

  Barrons exchanged a long, slow look with Gemma as if trying to think of a solution. "The others can set up in the English diplomat's house in Saint Petersburg. It's only several miles away."

  Every inch of her was stiff with tension. "Four suites. Barrons, of course. Dmitri and I, Byrnes and Ingrid, and... Kincaid and Ava. The rest of our party can sojourn in the city."

  "Excellent." Balfour's dark eyes twinkled. It was clear he'd wanted to separate the group, but the joke was on him. He spoke quickly in Russian, asking one of the servants to prepare refreshments while they waited.

  Gemma caught a faint shifting out of the corner of her eye, and noticed Lark glanced toward the palace the second he mentioned it. Troubling.

  "Thank you for the kind offer," she said in English.

  "Dido can arrange for carriages for the others. After you, Lady Hollis."

  Let him think he'd won this round.

  The first roll of the die was in play.

  Chapter 6

  The English diplomat's house in the center of Saint Petersburg was an imposing building painted sunset pink.

  Herbert, Blade, Lark, and Charlie were greeted by a household personally vetted by Luther, the Russian-based agent nobody had yet seen. Lark took the chance to rest in her rooms for a couple of hours before the sound of voices drew her downstairs.

  Byrnes, Charlie, and Gemma were taking tea in the dining room. Or at least, Herbert was trying to get them to take tea. The butler née agent had taken one look at the household staff and assumed authority. The place was immaculate, but since their arrival, there'd been a flurry of dusting.

  "What are you both doing here? Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for the welcome ball?" Lark asked.

  Gemma sipped from a fine bone china cup, her hair pinned elegantly and her face already powdered. "The others are getting ready and all I need to do is get dressed. We want Balfour to think this separation has thrown us into a tizzy, so I'm here to ensure you and Charlie are getting ready for the ball."

  "We're attending?"

  "Someone needs to steal me an impression of Balfour's seal and plant a communicator in his study. Get me a letter he's written too, please." Gemma set her cup down and circled the table. "When Charlie assured me you were going to join the mission, I had my dressmaker alter several of my and Ava's gowns, just in case." She rested her hands on Lark's shoulders, sizing her up. "He gave me a rough estimation of measurements, and with a little pinning, I think you'd look lovely in one of my gowns. Herbert, did you have the servants take that trunk up to Lark's rooms?"

  "Of course, Miss Gemma."

  "Lark? In a dress?" Charlie started laughing. "She'll never be able to pull this off."

  Lark's eyes narrowed. "It has happened on occasion."

  "Yes, but a ball?" He looked incredulous. "Gemma, I barely have the manners to attend a ball and I was raised in a duke’s manor. Lark's practically guaranteed to stick a knife in someone by mistake."

  Oh, now she was mad.

  "Can you pull this off?" Gemma asked.

  "Contrary to popular opinion, it wouldn't be the first time I've dressed the fancy to gull an aristocrat."

  No point in admitting to her recent larceny spree, courtesy of all Honoria's speech classes and lessons in etiquette. Not that she'd ever admitted to Honor what she'd been intending. Stealing from the blue bloods of the Echelon wasn't just profitable, Lark discovered, it was also incredibly satisfying. Especially when they were lecherous old groping windbags who thought she was nothing more than a pretty, empty-headed potential thrall.

  Ha. The joke was on them.

  And the jewels were in her pocket.

  Charlie tried to capture his laughter with a hand. "I must have missed it." He cleared his throat. Failed miserably in wiping the grin off his face. "But this is a high-stakes mission, and we need something a little..." He gestured. "You know...."

  "No, I don't know." Her tone turned dangerous. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

  Clearly the idiot didn't know her as well as he thought, because when she put both hands on her hips, he missed the warning sign.

  "Someone who's not going to stand out like a sore thumb. Debutantes are elegant, graceful, vapid-eyed creatures who flu
tter their lashes and simper. You've never simpered in your life. These men are going to be staring at your—"

  Byrnes clapped his hand over Charlie's mouth from behind. "To be honest, sugarplum, while I would greatly enjoy watching what's about to happen under normal circumstances, I've seen this story before. I know how it ends. And we've got a certain manipulative duke to focus on. Do you think the pair of you can do that?"

  "Are you doubting me again, Byrnes?" she asked.

  "I learned that lesson on day one. Never, my Lady Lark."

  Despite the way they'd gotten off on the wrong foot, she was almost starting to like him. He conceded defeat when it was due and didn't appear to carry any grudges, though she didn't doubt he'd return the favor the second he got a chance.

  "Think you can pull it off?" Byrnes asked her.

  "I know I can."

  "That's good enough for me." Byrnes snickered. "Please tell me the dress is red?"

  Lark's eyes narrowed. She felt like Byrnes was having some sort of jest she didn't quite understand.

  "It can be," Gemma said. "There are several options."

  "Definitely the red." Byrnes looked completely innocent, which meant he was either up to something or enjoying his own private joke.

  Lark glared daggers at Charlie.

  Time to wipe the smirk off his face.

  Surprisingly, it was Gemma who came to assist her.

  Lark had just been buttoned into the gown Gemma had provided for her by one of the maids, when the door opened and the other woman appeared in a swish of peacock-green skirts. She turned abruptly, despite the fact her back was now covered, not an inch of skin revealed. She'd had to be careful in front of the maid, making sure her chemise covered everything.

  "Sit," Gemma said, gesturing for the maid to leave them alone.

  Lark settled on the seat in front of the mirror as Gemma picked up the silver-backed hairbrush. Lark wasn't quite certain what to expect. Though she'd never have said a woman intimidated her, Gemma was precisely the sort she usually avoided.