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

by Bec McMaster

"Can you please not argue with me just this once? Someone needs to tell the others what happened."

  "No," she said emphatically.

  "What's wrong?" Dido mocked. "Don't you care for poor Ivan?"

  She rubbed the creature's head and it made a high-pitched noise, revealing razor-sharp canines an inch long.

  Vampires were created when a blue blood's craving virus levels began to hit 80 or 90 percent, a process they referred to as entering the Fade. Until recently, they'd thought the Fade to be an unconquerable weakness all blue bloods would face, until they'd discovered there was another alternative to becoming a vampire.

  Dhampir.

  The Fade wasn't the final death throes of a powerful creature, but a period of metamorphosis. Without the elixir vitae that helped a blue blood through the transition, however, the end result was often the blind, bloodthirsty killing machine in front of him. Vampires couldn't reason. They were nothing more than pure hunger, driven completely by their primitive natures, and those natures told them they were the peak predator in this world.

  Killing one was virtually impossible without a small army or high-powered weapons.

  Or luck.

  "I'm not going anywhere without you," Lark told him, drawing her knife. It looked pathetic compared to the enormity of what they faced. "So find me another option."

  "Lark—"

  "Friends don't leave their friends behind."

  Damn her. Couldn't she just once listen to him? "The only option I have is to run."

  "Works for me."

  The pair of them started backing toward the door they'd just come through.

  "Hunt," Dido told the creature in a cold voice. She began to remove the leash from its collar.

  Charlie grabbed Lark by the arm and shoved her through the door. "Run!" he yelled.

  As they burst through the door he heard Dido laugh, and then there was a high-pitched squeal as the vampire was let loose.

  Not every door was locked, but enough of them were. Like lambs to the slaughter, they were herded in a very clear direction. Charlie slammed the door shut behind them as the vampire hurled itself against it. Timber splintered. They were trapped in a bedroom.

  "Here!" Lark shoved an enormous chest of drawers in front of the door.

  Another blow hammered the door, and the chest squealed an inch across the floor. "Get us out of here!"

  She slipped his lock pick set from his waistcoat and ran toward the window.

  "Damn it! The windows are barred." Lark shook the iron bars and then turned and surveyed the room.

  The door gave another thump as the vampire threw itself at it. Charlie's shoulders strained as he maneuvered a wardrobe into place in front of the chest. He pressed his back to it, breathing hard. "Think that will hold it?"

  As if to answer him, timber shattered somewhere behind the wardrobe. He could just imagine it ripping its way through the drawers and then the wardrobe....

  "We're trapped," Lark said, looking this way and that.

  The expression on her face made his stomach plummet. "I got you into this mess." He raked his hands through his hair. "I should never have asked you for help. I should never have—"

  "Charlie?" Lark's gaze snagged on something in the middle of the room.

  "What?" he snapped.

  "There might be a way out of here."

  His gaze followed hers.

  "Think you can fit up a chimney?" she asked.

  "Wouldn't be the first time."

  Shoving her back against the bricks, Lark walked her way up the inside of the chimney to preserve her arm strength. Her thighs were hunched up near her chest, and she had no idea how Charlie was fitting.

  A grunt echoed from below.

  "Sshhh," she hissed.

  "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

  "What's wrong?"

  Charlie shifted. "I seem to be stuck."

  What? Lark peered down between her thighs. "What do you mean you're stuck?"

  Lashings of soot stuck to his pale face, and the moonlight had risen enough that it gleamed directly on the blue of his eyes. She couldn't see past him, for his broad shoulders filled the chimney. "I mean, I'm stuck," he growled quietly. "I can't go any bloody further."

  "What a shame," she pronounced emphatically. Her heart was racing fast enough to choke her, but she'd be damned if she let that show. "Who's laughing now about being short?"

  "It's not my height. It's my shoulders."

  Lark shifted around, trying to get a better look at his position. Her humor died as she saw he was quite right. "We can't go back down." The second that vampire broke through the door it would be coming after them. "You said you could do this!"

  "Apparently," he snapped, "I've grown a little broader in the four years since my previous chimney-climbing escapade."

  "Maybe it's your fat head?"

  "Maybe—if you would give me a little bit of a hand—I might be able to get past this lip of brick. Instead of berating me like some sort of poke-faced tutor."

  Poke-faced tutor? Tremors wracked her arms. She was used to a swift climb—not hovering halfway up a chimney. "Bloody hell."

  He seemed to be caught on the decorative rim that banded the chimney on the outside—and inside, it seemed. Lark scrambled back down, sending soot flying into Charlie's upturned face. He cursed under his breath, lowering his head.

  The layer of brick causing the problem seemed to be doubled up. Lark put both knees on the edge, her thighs spread wide as she leaned down to examine his circumstances. Hot breath whispered against her cheek.

  "What are you staring at?"

  "Oh, nothing," Charlie said. "Just enjoying the view."

  His eyes twinkled.

  Lark breathed out slowly. Killing him would have to wait. She was practically straddling his head. "You do know if that vampire realizes where we are, it's going to come after us. I'll bet it fits up this chimney. I wonder what part of you it will bite first? You're not that fond of your balls, are you?"

  Charlie winced. "I hate you."

  "If we get your shoulders through, do you think the rest of you will fit?"

  "Should. I'm considerably narrower in the hips, it seems," he mused.

  She already knew that.

  At eighteen, he'd been thin and whittled down to lean muscle. The shoulders still disconcerted her—where had they come from?—but it was the hard muscled plane of his ass in a tight set of breeches that seemed to have seared itself into her memory.

  "How partial are you to your skin?"

  "I'm—"

  Below him, the sound of timber splintering echoed up the chimney.

  Their eyes met.

  Then she was hauling on his shirt, her thighs straining as she fought to drag him past the brick. Charlie grunted and pushed, and suddenly he was through. Lark had to scramble higher to allow him to find purchase on the ledge of brick that had caused him so much trouble.

  "Shit," he whispered. "I think I'm bleeding."

  It would draw the vampire as surely as a shark in blood-churned waters.

  "Do you think you can continue?" she asked, glad he couldn't see her hot cheeks right now. "The second we're out of here, we'll have to sprint across the rooftops."

  "Sounds like old times."

  It did. "Let's hope you're as fast as you were then, before you expanded at an unnatural rate."

  Charlie gave her a push from below, his hand splaying across her ass. "I'm not the one holding up the line. And as much as I appreciate the view, I'd rather be on the roof, breathing fresh air. I like my balls right where they are, thank you very much."

  Lark scrambled up the chimney, cursing him under her breath. There was a grate at the top, but she smashed it open with the heel of her palm and escaped. They could close it after and hopefully trap the monstrosity below them.

  She could still feel the touch of Charlie's hand, as if it had branded itself on her skin.

  But there was a little part of her that knew it didn't just soun
d like old times, it was exactly like those days when they'd shared a camaraderie she'd never found with anyone else. Like slipping into a comfortable old robe, or rereading a favorite book, she and Charlie just slotted into place like two halves of a whole.

  Except there was an uncomfortable edge beneath the banter now.

  Because she didn't just want to box his ears anymore, or punch him in the ribs when he invariably said something stupid.

  No, now she wanted to kiss him.

  And she was fairly certain the feeling was mutual.

  Chapter 10

  They made it back to the diplomat’s house with no sign of the vampire, thank goodness. Either Dido had recalled it, or it hadn't fit up the chimney.

  Charlie helped Lark slip through the window into his bedchamber. The front door was far too visible, and after the trap Dido had just set, he didn't want anyone watching the house to know they were home just yet.

  "Well, that was fun," he said with a wink. "We nearly got eaten by a vampire."

  "You're insane. What part of 'we nearly got eaten by a vampire' was enjoyable?"

  "The part where we didn't!" He swept her up in his arms and swung her around, buoyed by exhilaration. There was nothing quite like the thrill of a chase, or a dangerous fight to get the blood pounding through his veins.

  Lark's makeshift cloak swirled around them before it tore loose. Then he was spinning slowly to a halt, letting her toes hit the ground. His hands slipped on the silk of her bodice, thumbs stroking down her sides. Lark's eyes glittered as she looked up at him, and suddenly it wasn't just exhilaration that flooded through his veins, but need.

  He wanted her.

  It hadn't always been the case, but it was real now and he couldn't find a way to put it into words. The innocence of childhood had long since slipped away, leaving the pair of them trapped in this moment of uncertainty. No matter how much he tried to pretend nothing had changed, every moment of camaraderie held a certain edge to it these days.

  When he'd first arrived at the Warren, he'd been so stricken with the transition of the craving virus, he could barely think straight, let alone see her as more than a friend.

  After months of torment—yearning for blood, craving it, hearing his sister's heartbeats in the room next door and knowing if he gave in for just a second, just a moment, he could slake this wretched thirst—there hadn't been enough left of him to even acknowledge his surroundings, let alone enjoy them.

  And then one night, he'd woken to find Lark in his room, peering down at him curiously.

  "Who are you?" he'd asked.

  "The bane of your existence," she told him, with all the arrogance she could muster.

  From that moment on, they'd been thick as thieves.

  Friends, partners in crime, allied in their determination to drive Blade halfway to Bedlam, as he put it. After everything Charlie had endured, he found with her a purity within himself he'd thought was lost. Others might be frightened of him, but Lark would merely roll her eyes and threaten to punch him if he ever tried to drink her blood.

  It wasn't until he grew older and girls began to catch his eye that things changed between them.

  "Admit it," he teased, exhilaration still running rampant through him. "You had fun tonight. With me."

  "I'm not admitting anything." Lark looked down in dismay as coal and dust fell off her clothes. "Poor Herbert's going to have a seizure when he sees this mess."

  Every time he hinted there was something more between them, she moved the conversation in another direction. It was almost as if she forgot herself for a moment. Her smile would soften, she'd lean into him, and then....

  All of a sudden she remembered she was supposed to be this new, rational, unamused Lark. A woman who seemed somehow untouchable, until she forgot again.

  He could be patient.

  It was the first thing Blade taught him when Charlie started cracking houses. An impatient thief was a dead thief.

  Or he could challenge her directly. See if he could slip through some of that armor she kept firmly in place these days.

  "What now?" Lark groused, peering up at him over her dirty cheeks.

  He reached out and batted at the smudge on her nose. "Well, I don't know about you, but I've got soot in places I didn't think I'd ever have soot. I'll rouse one of the servants and get them to send a message to the others so they don't worry. And then... I thought I'd avail myself of the heated pools in the west wing."

  Lark's breath caught. "There are heated pools in the house?"

  Got you now.

  She'd evidently spent so many years covered in mud and dirt as a child that she'd had her fill forever. Ever since she began to blossom into a woman, she'd been an avid devotee of bathing.

  "Roman-style baths." Charlie leaned down so they were almost face-to-face, his voice lowering. "I'll wash your back if you wash mine."

  For a second he tensed, certain she was going to punch him in the arm.

  Instead, she gave him a slow, heated glance from beneath her lashes. "You don't think I'll do it, do you?"

  There she was. The Lark he remembered. Inch by inch, she was beginning to relax around him. "It's different now we're both adults. I understand if you're shy these days. It's not as though I'd look, but you're a woman now. There are certain expectations. No splashing. No swimming together. Definitely no taking one's clothes off."

  "I know what you're doing." There was almost a hint of growl to her voice. "You're incredibly transparent."

  He grinned.

  "Fine." She turned, shooting him a direct look over one shoulder. "I'm going to find your heated pools. You may join me if you wish, though you're not washing my back."

  He laughed.

  "I'll wash yours, however."

  The laughter choked off.

  Charlie stared after her as she sauntered down the hallway. There was no way she was going to get naked with him in the cellar. This was a bluff.

  And if so, he was going to call it.

  "Let me wake one of the servants," he said. "Then I'll be with you directly."

  He found a footman snuffing candles in one of the hallways and requested a message be sent to Gemma to let the others know they were all right.

  And then he turned and went after Lark, finding her opening doors near the baths.

  "This one," he said, opening the door. "After you, my lady."

  Steam curled through the air. The heated pools were truly a marvel. Whoever owned the place had spent a fortune on boilers so the water would be a constant temperature. This was luxury on a scale he couldn't quite conceive of.

  Enormous marble columns supported the domed roof, and moonlight spilled through the windows in the dome. The pool was rectangular in shape, but the stone edges were rounded and not quite square; the pool itself had been crafted many, many years before the rest of the structure, he suspected.

  "Well, here we are." Charlie slid his hands into his pockets as he waited for Lark to finish examining the room. "Towels are in that cupboard over there."

  Lark turned her back and swept the ragged remains of her hair over one shoulder. The night's efforts had obliterated the elegant chignon Gemma had created, but she looked more herself this way. "Could you undo my buttons?"

  He stared at the little row of pearls trailing up her spine. Even now he could still make out the splash of red silk that was all that remained of the dress. The request seemed dangerous in a way he couldn't quite figure out. He'd set the game into motion, but somehow she'd turned it on its head.

  He was definitely losing this battle.

  "Of course."

  Charlie forced himself to swallow the hard lump in his throat and started on her top buttons. He had hands that could coax the secrets out of even the most stubborn lock, but right now his fingers felt thick and fumbling.

  They'd wrestled a hundred times over the years.

  Curled together in bed when she had a nightmare and snuck into his room.

  So many incidental
touches over the years that this should have been merely another.

  But the merest brush of her skin against his felt like he could feel that same touch down the length of his cock.

  "You certainly won't get a job as a lady's maid." Despite the mockery, her words came out slightly breathless.

  "What a damned shame."

  "One would think you'd worked your way around your fair share of ladies’ garments. Surely you're not fumbling just because it's me?"

  His fingers stilled on the final button. "Is that what you think?"

  Lark bowed her head, the nubbins of her spine pushing through her skin. He wanted, desperately, to press his lips to the one at the top. Lark tilted her face slightly to the side. "You're hardly an innocent."

  "I'm so glad you've worked me out." He couldn't stop the hint of anger flavoring his voice. "You always did know me best."

  "Just undo my buttons, Charlie. I'll manage the rest."

  "Done." He stared down at her parted gown, wanting to put his hands inside it and push it forward off her shoulders, but he was angry at her presumption. And aroused. It was a confusing mix of emotions. He couldn't see a damned inch of her back, thanks to her corset and chemise, but it felt like she was naked.

  The slick gleam of light on her skintight trousers made him swallow.

  Turning away, he fumbled at his own buttons. The clammy, wet heat of the air clung to his skin and welded his shirt to his chest. His cock surged against the flap of his trousers like some insistent intruder, determined to beat down the door if he didn't open it.

  "Coming in?" Lark called, and he heard her corset and trousers hit the ground.

  "I'll let you go first," he replied through gritted teeth.

  How the hell was he going to manage this? His condition was quite emphatically clear. Even in the faint moonlight she wouldn't be able to miss it, and while they'd been avoiding direct insinuations, the second she caught a glimpse of his erection, all pretense went out the window.

  Water splashed behind him as she waded in. "Oh, my goodness," she moaned. "This is delicious. I'm so glad you talked me into this."

  Me too. He rolled his eyes at himself. I thought it would be fun, but it feels like torture.