by Bec McMaster
It was simpler with Ingrid. The tall verwulfen woman strode about in trousers and brooked no nonsense from the men around her. Ingrid's every expression flashed across her face, and she didn't bother to hold her tongue. Lark felt instantly at ease with her.
Ava was lovely and kind, but they had little in common, and she tended to ramble on about the oddest things like the experiments she was doing to create a Black Vein antidote, and the precise turning point where the craving virus became the Fade.
But Gemma....
Gemma had been watching Lark with a speculating look ever since she'd boarded the Valkyrie.
It made her nervous.
"Did you want to speak to me?" she asked as Gemma brushed her hair.
"I was hoping to get a moment alone with you, yes. Tonight is a very important mission—"
"I'm not going to ruin it," she said abruptly. "I've been stealing from blue blood lords for years. Charlie has no idea what I can do."
"I believe you. And young men can be blinded by what's right in front of them."
"He is going to eat his words," Lark promised.
The faintest of smiles touched Gemma's painted lips. "I'm sure he will. He's half in love with you, did you know?"
Lark burst into a startled laugh. "Charlie?"
"Yes, Charlie." Gemma's smile was genuinely affectionate. "When he looks at you, he gets this particularly constipated expression on his face. I could drop an anvil on his foot and he wouldn't notice it if you were in the room."
"Charlie looked at almost every pretty girl in the rookery like that," she protested. "I hardly think it...."
She couldn't say the word.
Gemma met her gaze in the mirror. "Trust me. If there is one thing I know well, it's men. He might have noticed pretty girls in the past. He might have even chased them. But he never looked at any of them the way he looks at you."
For the first time in her life, Lark had nothing to say.
Not a word.
Except.
She started shaking her head. "No."
Gemma smiled sadly and began separating sections of Lark's hair and braiding others. "You can't believe it. Is it because you grew up together? Because you spent so many years wearing breeches?" She leaned down, setting her face next to Lark's. "Trust me. You're a very beautiful young woman. Maybe it took him a while to notice, but boys can be stupid. He's a man now. When he sees you in a dress—"
"He's seen me in a dress," she blurted, her cheeks flaming. "Honoria made me wear a gown for my sixteenth birthday and he laughed."
It had taken Honoria weeks to talk her into the foolish idea, and though they’d pinned the gown, she'd been thin and distinctly lacking in certain areas.
But for the first time in her life, she'd felt pretty.
And then Charlie ruined it.
"When he sees you tonight, he's definitely not going to be laughing." Gemma began twisting sections of her hair up and pinning them elegantly. Her voice grew thick with satisfaction as she wove a strand of pearls through the thick mass. "Oh no. He's going to choke on his tongue once I am through with you. Here. What do you think?"
An elegant stranger peered back.
That was her first impression.
The hairstyle wasn't fussy. An elegant chignon with a sweep of braids securing it, it drew attention to the fine structure of her cheekbones. Lark blinked. She'd never thought she had any of her mother's features, but she could see it now, and it made her heart ache. Mamochka had been so elegant and beautiful. When she was a little girl, Lark would play with her mother's pearls and jewelry, and choose the set her mother would wear to the ball.
Sometimes she wondered if that was why she had such an affinity for stealing fine gemstones.
Or maybe it was her only means of taking vengeance on the type of lords who'd slaughtered her family. Revenge by proxy.
Gemma draped a diamond necklace around her throat, and it all began to feel surreal. The gown, the hair, the jewels. Lark swallowed.
"Perfect," Gemma said. "It might feel strange at first, being laced in so tightly, but just remember, shoulders back, spine straight, chin up. Walk as if you own the palace. You're my younger cousin, fresh up from the country and a little wet around the ears, which should explain any slips in manners."
"You needn't worry." Lark tilted her chin up the way Honoria had taught her. "Charlie's sisters, Honoria and Lena, have been giving me lessons for years. I've never worn anything as fine as this, but I can mimic an aristocrat if needed."
"I'm sure you enjoyed those lessons," Gemma said dryly.
"Actually, yes. It's easier to steal a lady's jewels when you're dressed like one. I've never been to an actual ball though. Mostly the opera, or a play."
Gemma threw her head back and laughed. "Charlie said I'd like you, but I thought him merely infatuated." Her laughter faded. "Stand up and let me look at you."
Lark turned, sweeping her skirts behind her.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The gown sat just off her shoulders, and covered most of her back. Though she'd never fill it out the way Gemma would, the corset pushed her breasts high enough to make it seem as though she had some.
"Oh," she said.
"Liking you makes this difficult." Gemma examined her as Lark's brows drew together.
"What do you mean?"
"You speak Russian."
The comment came out of nowhere. Lark froze. "What?"
"You can lie, of course." Gemma continued circling her, tugging the bustle into place. "But you should know I was trained as a Falcon as a child, and then became one of Malloryn's agents when he offered me freedom." She pressed her fingertips to the flicker of pulse in Lark's throat from behind. "Your heartbeat just leaped through the roof, and if you were human, you'd be sweating."
Lark stared into her panicked reflection. Never tell anyone who you are. But she had to say something. "My uncle and I lived in a Russian neighborhood when we first arrived in London."
"Did you?"
"How did you...?"
"Know?" Gemma took a small pot and began to powder her face. "You watch the Russians when they speak as if you understand them. You tried not to laugh the other day when Captain Dansk tore strips off some of his aeronauts, even though the others were baffled. Some of the Rogues have a smattering of common phrases, but if I spoke quickly to them in Russian, they'd look confused. You're listening. I can see it. And you moved toward the house in response to Balfour's offer of refreshment before the direction was translated into English."
Simple little errors she'd have to be careful of in future.
"How well do you speak it?"
Lark hesitated. "It's been a long time, but I understand it quite well, and with every hour my grasp on it seems to be returning. Some words confuse me, but it’s coming back to me."
"It could be quite a handy asset," Gemma said, resting her hands on Lark's shoulders. "You would know what was being said around you. As long as you kept up the pretense you had no understanding of Russian, others might become freer with their words."
"You want me to spy."
"Shouldn't be any more difficult than slipping a lady's necklace from her neck, though I'd refrain from such habits tonight if I were you."
"Trust me," Lark whispered, still a little off-balance. "I have no intentions of crossing one of the Blood."
"Is there anything else I should know?"
"I speak a little French too." Excellent French, in fact. Some of it from her tutors, but most from the brief few months she'd spent living in France.
"Even better."This time Gemma didn't ask how she'd come to learn it.
"What's wrong?" Obsidian asked as Gemma fussed with his lapels.
She'd returned from town ten minutes ago, and had been chewing on her lip ever since.
"We're about to attend our first diplomatic ball as Lady Hollis and her charming fiancé, Dmitri Zhukov. Most of the people at the ball want to kill us, and are only looking for the chan
ce to do so. We have less than ten days to find Malloryn and rescue him. Which reason do you prefer?"
"I'm supposed to be charming? Is that what's bothering you? You doubt me?"
"Ha."
He caught her silk-gloved wrists. "Gemma."
Gemma's shoulders softened in defeat. "Fine." She glanced around. "Lark speaks Russian very well. She also lied to me. Not once, but twice. I gave her a chance to tell me the truth and she tried to sell me some story about living in the Russian area in London when she and her uncle first arrived."
He stroked his thumb over her pulse. "You think she's a spy?"
"I don't know." Gemma stared through his cravat thoughtfully. "She's been living with Blade since she was young. He took her and her uncle in, according to Charlie, and they've been loyal to him ever since."
"Perhaps she was telling the truth?"
Gemma shook her head. "No. I'm certain she's hiding something. And it's the first thing Malloryn taught me. Look for holes in people's stories. Look for elements that don't add up. Lark makes my skin itch every time she opens her mouth."
Obsidian pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. She'd been on edge for weeks. Not sleeping well enough, if at all. Determined to iron out every flaw in their plan and account for every possibility. She'd lost at least ten pounds, and for a woman who filled out a ball gown spectacularly, it was starting to show.
"I'll keep an eye on her," he told her. "You've more than enough to worry about."
"Thank you."
"Focus on Malloryn. If there's something Lark is hiding, I'll get to the bottom of it."
Gemma tilted her face to his to take advantage of his affection. She brushed her lips against his, the kiss softening as she melded against him. The first brush of her tongue stirred his hunger, and he muscled her back against the wall of their bedroom.
All that silk hid the exquisiteness of her skin. He wanted to tear it off her.
But you have a job to do.
Obsidian finally drew back, his fists clenched in the fabric of her bustle. "Later," he told her, breathing hard. "Ball first. Balfour first. Then I'll make love to you all night long."
"Whom are you trying to convince?" she asked, with an impish smile.
Heavens grant him the strength. "Me. Definitely me."
Gemma's smile lit the whole world. "Have I ever told you how much I adore you?"
"No. But I'm hardly averse to hearing it."
Chapter 7
Lark wore a cloak that covered her from head to toe, but occasionally Charlie would catch a glimpse of red skirts flashing through, and he couldn't help wanting to rub his hand over the back of his neck. Every inch of him was on edge. Maybe it had been the way Byrnes laughed and clamped a hand over his mouth. Or the smile Gemma tried to hide.
Or maybe it's because Lark looks like she's going to break a dozen hearts tonight.
Gemma had done an excellent job.
Lark's hair was gathered off her long, elegant neck, and Gemma must have powdered her face, for her cheeks held just a pinch of color, and her lips were glossy and pink. He couldn't stop staring at them.
He'd been seventeen when he began to notice she was beautiful, in a wild, feline way that said I will cut you if you look at me sideways, but right now, she looked dangerous in a completely different manner of speaking.
She looked like she could rip hearts out of men's chests with a simple sidelong glance of those mysterious eyes.
She even moved differently, and her laugh had become this husky sound that shivered through him and said oh you are so droll, even when he hadn't said anything particularly funny.
This wasn't the Lark he knew.
And maybe that was why he was so disconcerted by it all; it had been three years and he'd known he had changed, but so had she. The footprints of their friendship were still there, but they were different people now, and he'd never been so aware of it.
Charlie offered Lark his arm as the carriage disbursed them on the circular driveway in front of the palace.
"Ready?" he asked as he led her up the stairs to the palace.
"Are you?"
That was definitely a challenge in her eyes.
"Why do I get the feeling you just slapped me with your glove?"
"Are we dueling?" she mused as the footmen opened the enormous double doors and welcomed them.
"I don't know. Here. Allow me." He set his hands to her cloak.
Lark glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling, and with a very small smile, she stepped out of the cloak. He was left with a handful of silk, his mouth dropping open as he caught a glimpse of her gown.
Red.
Elegant.
Dangerous.
Charlie was momentarily struck dumb as she turned.
"What's wrong, Charlie?" she asked, with the utmost innocence.
There was a sound in his throat but it wasn't intelligible. He thrust the cloak at the footman before he managed to regain his composure. "You look lovely."
"Lark? In a dress?" she mocked him. "'She'll never be able to pull this off.' Who's laughing now, Charlie?"
"I deserved that."
"You did."
He shut his mouth before he could say something really stupid and escorted her toward the sounds of music. The swish of her skirts set his teeth on edge and he couldn't stop glancing at her.
"What's wrong?" she demanded.
"Nothing," he growled. "You have breasts. I'm not used to it."
Lark laughed. "I've been waiting years for this moment. Years."
Charlie had the sudden suspicion he'd be seeing a lot more of those breasts, now that she'd realized they could render him dumb. What had he done?
"Any chance we can focus on why we're here?"
She was still snickering in an unladylike fashion as he escorted her down the stairs.
"Ah, there you are." Gemma intercepted them at the base. "What's so funny?"
"Apparently I have breasts," Lark replied.
She and Gemma shared one of those distinctively female looks that made his skin itch.
"You don't say?" Gemma's eyes sparkled. "Are they lovely, Charlie? Are you blushing?"
"Sometimes I wonder why I put up with the pair of you," he said, turning and intercepting a servant carrying a tray of champagne. "Here. Drink."
"Oh, he's so eloquent," Gemma noted.
"Do you think he's going to fit in?" Lark asked. "His manners have been appalling. Hardly up to snuff. I'm not sure if he's going to pull this off."
"I can't remember what made me think introducing you two was a good idea," he muttered into his champagne.
"See that gentleman there?" Gemma mused, fiddling with Lark's earring. "The blond one in the red coat with the military medals?"
Lark sipped her champagne and glanced in the direction Gemma tipped her chin. "Yes."
"He's the Captain of the Imperial Ravens, and no friend of Sergey's. Can you lure him into the gardens for me? I want to have a little chat with him, but I can't be seen doing it. Catch his attention and try and make him approach you instead."
"How the hell is she supposed to lure him into the gardens?" Charlie growled.
Both women looked at him.
"Consider it done," Lark replied, handing Gemma her empty glass.
And then she was gone.
"You, wait right here," Gemma said, digging a fingernail into Charlie's chest as Lark made her way through the crowd.
He set his teeth. "She's not used to these sorts of games. You were the one who said don't get separated, and don't be caught alone in dark rooms or the garden. You're throwing her to the wolves."
"She's the bait." Gemma patted his cheek. "But I'm the trap. Relax, Charlie. Valentin isn't going to hurt her. I knew him five years ago, and he's one of the better ones. Do you seriously think I'd put her at risk? The only thing she's in danger of is succumbing to a kiss. Valentin has a reputation for sweeping young ladies off their feet, and he's quite a liking for brunettes."
> His head was about to explode.
"I'm going to get another drink," he said, before he could say something he'd regret.
"Good idea. Oh, but Charlie..., the servants are over there. You're heading in the direction of the terrace."
Charlie prowled the terrace, trying to catch his breath.
It had taken Lark only two minutes to be approached by the handsome blond Gemma had pointed out, and precisely three before the pair of them were slipping into the shadows. Lark laughed, shrugging her shoulder flirtatiously, and from the way she bit her lip and glanced up from under her eyelashes at this Valentin, Charlie knew the bastard would be on his way to the gardens within seconds.
It was only when she stole a glance at him as she accepted the stranger's arm that Charlie realized she'd known he was watching the entire time.
He didn't know what to make of any of this.
The trip to Russia had been polite and distant, two former friends circling each other carefully. He hadn't wanted to ruin this newfound peace treaty.
But ever since this afternoon when he told her she couldn't pull this off, it was as if he'd somehow roused her competitive side.
He could just catch a glimpse of her through the trees.
"What are we looking at so intently?" A voice murmured at his side, and then Barrons leaned on the balcony of the terrace at Charlie’s side, his gaze locking on the gardens. "Oh. It's a Rogue of the female variety, ruthlessly luring its prey into the shrubbery. Look at the way she moves... Her brilliant plumage. The male has no choice but to follow, as he knows she's drawn attention from other males—"
"Have you been reading more of Darwin's On The Origin of Species?" Charlie asked sourly.
Barrons hid an indulgent smile in his bloodied brandy.
"It’s not amusing." Charlie pushed away, feeling jittery. He needed to move—or better yet, hit someone. Preferably a tall, handsome blond with large, too-perfect teeth. "Aren’t you supposed to be mincing around, meddling with Balfour?"
"He’s currently occupied with some Imperial Princesses. And my brother looked like he needed assistance."