by Bec McMaster
Lark looked up at him, the hunger in her eyes.
Peeling her sleeves up, he winced at the sight of all that blood. Tearing a strip off his own sleeve, he dunked it into the river and wiped some of the blood away. Unblemished skin gleamed through.
"I'm fine," she said, and not for the first time.
"I'm fairly certain you're not fine." He squeezed her hands. "You're as cold as ice and you've been oddly silent ever since we escaped. Besides, I know you. You've been acting strangely ever since we arrived at the palace."
Tough as nails, hard as a rock. She'd always projected a devil-may-care attitude to the world, daring anyone to take her on with a wild light in her eyes that made even the most dangerous rookery thug reconsider his options.
But he'd been the one who held her at night as nightmares shook her small frame.
He'd been the one who'd seen her cry over the remains of a mangled dove she'd been feeding, before she'd ruthlessly dashed the tears from her eyes.
Sometimes he wondered if anyone else had managed to slip beneath her guarded walls, but he knew they were merely that. Walls. The real Lark was as frightened and cautious as the rest of the world; she just didn't like to show it.
"Will you.... Will you hold me?" She was shaking now in earnest.
Charlie unconsciously squeezed the makeshift rag, and water dripped all over his thigh. It was the last thing he'd have expected from her. "Of course."
"I miss your hugs," she murmured. "I used to love falling asleep on your chest, listening to your heart beat. It felt like the safest place in the world."
Curling her into his lap, he cradled her as tight as he could. "It's all right. We're safe."
A shudder went through her. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. The second I heard them howling...."
"Yeah. Almost shit my own trousers for a second," he joked. "If you don't tell, I won't tell. It'll be our little secret."
Not even a smile.
Hell.
He pressed a kiss to her hair, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. He'd promised not to push her, but it was hard seeing her like this and not being able to do more. Leaning back against the back of the boat, he kicked his feet up on the bench and tilted his head back on the rim as Lark rested her cheek against his chest.
There was a soft golden haze in the east.
The boat drifted slowly on the current.
Every inch of him ached and he was exhausted, but he wouldn't have traded this moment for the world.
"Do you think Blade and Herbert escaped?" she whispered.
"You ever seen a trap Blade couldn't worm his way out of?"
"There were a lot of them."
"Numbers have never stopped him in the past." He smoothed her hair off her forehead. "He'll be fine. Blade's the one person on this entire cursed mission I don't worry about. We just have to make it back to the right side of the river and I'll bet you ten quid Blade's smoking a cheroot at the foot of that bloody statue."
The breath eased out of her. "It makes me nervous, having you both along with me."
"Because of what happened to Tin Man?"
Every time he thought of that night, his guts knotted up like someone had grabbed a handful of them and was twisting.
"Because I don't think I can lose someone else." Her fingers curled in his shirt. "I've lost enough."
Was that why she was so frightened to let him close?
"I promise you, no matter what happens, you will never lose me." I was yours the second I opened my eyes that first day and saw you there, though it took me a while to realize it. "I will crawl out of my goddamned deathbed to be with you. No matter how many Blood aristocrats or Black Wolves stand between us, nothing short of hell could keep me away, and even then I'd give the devil my soul so you would never be alone again."
Lark lifted her head, and suddenly her mouth was bare inches from his.
His heart started beating faster as her breath fanned over his sensitive lips. One thigh was pressed between his, and he'd been trying desperately not to notice, but that was then, and this was now, and suddenly he could barely breathe for the sheer need to press his mouth to hers and stake his claim.
But.
"Charlie." Part breathless protest, part plea.
He fucking loved hearing his name on her tongue.
Charlie pressed a thumb to the center of her lower lip, pausing the words before she could give them life. "When I kiss you again, Lark, it's not going to be in a dirty boat with half the fishermen of the Neva looking on. And there will be no doubt in your mind. No reticence in your touch."
"Are you going to kiss me again?"
"One day. When you beg me to kiss you. When you can't live another moment without my mouth on yours. If you want me to kiss you again, then you're the one who's going to have to make the first move."
Contemplation stirred through her dark eyes. "This is complicated," she whispered.
Charlie smiled at her. "No. It's not. You're just determined to make it so."
"We've barely even patched our friendship. What if—?"
"Nothing will ever make me walk away from you again."
Lark rested her head back down and curled her fingers in the collar of his shirt.
"Can I ask you a question?" he murmured, stroking her hair.
"Of course."
"I'm fairly certain you were speaking Russian when I entered the room."
Tension slid through her. "Yes. I speak a little Russian. I speak a little French and German too. There are more than enough Russian immigrants in the East End."
It had been more than just the smattering he'd picked up. In the heat of the moment he'd been focused on getting the knife away from her throat, but looking back now, she'd been answering rapidly.
For the first time since he'd met her, Charlie was pretty certain Lark had just lied to him.
People bustled through the square, and the Admiralty spire gleamed golden in the sunlight as dawn burst over the city.
Checking over his shoulder for signs of pursuit, Charlie kept one hand at the small of Lark's back as he directed her toward the statue. Though she was putting one foot in front of the other, she moved like an automaton, stripped down to the barest of reflexes in order to keep moving.
It was unnerving.
A familiar figure leaned against the fence surrounding the statue, smoke curling from the ever-present cheroot in his hands.
Charlie gave her a nudge. "Ten quid. Told you."
"Trouble?" Blade took in their bloodied clothes.
"Nothing we couldn't handle," he replied.
Blade's green gaze slid over Lark. Charlie shook his head swiftly in an I'll tell you later kind of way.
"What happened to you and Herbert?" he asked.
There was blood on Blade's shirt, and one of the buttons on his waistcoat was missing.
"We were set upon by a group of ruffians," Herbert replied. He looked immaculate. Glossy shoes, his hair still slicked into place, and the false beard long gone.
"Then 'Erbert took out 'is pistol and shot three o' 'em right through the eye." Blade gave Charlie a long, slow look. "Nobody told me 'e was a marksman."
"Crack shot, sir," Herbert replied. "I served in Her Majesty's army in Lower Burma for several years before Malloryn recruited me."
You doubted me. "I told you he'd be an asset."
"Master Blade was no slouch either, though his technique is a touch more... violent."
"Master Blade," Charlie mouthed.
Blade slapped him over the back of the head. "I assume we ain't got nothin'. 'Erbert and I 'ad to light outta there like our asses were on fire."
"No sign of Malloryn," he agreed with a sigh.
"We'll find 'im. Let's get goin'. Some bastard spilled 'is entrails all over me boots."
"How terribly impolite."
"Impolite or not, I'm takin' the baths first."
Chapter 13
Charlie found Blade sitting on the rooftop of the diplo
mat's house, in the shadows of one of the enormous chimneys.
Lark had taken to bed, and he'd sent a message along to Gemma stating "they'd had no luck at cards last night", which left him to his own devices for the day.
"You do realize they have a sitting room," he called, balancing along the ridge of the roof. "There's even a library."
"Aye, but they ain't got these views." Blade waved his hand at the panorama in front of them.
Behind him, the river churned dull and gray with dozens of seagulls bobbing in the current, but every house in the street was painted a bright color, and everywhere Charlie looked gold decorated small cupolas and domes.
And in the distance, the ruins of Grigoriev Palace squatted like a widowed matron, all dour broken windows and rain-bleached walls giving the palace an air of mourning.
Both of them stared at it.
"Thinking about last night's bust?" Charlie sat beside his brother-in-law. Blade snapped something shut in his hand, and he caught a glimpse of a silver locket, and looked away swiftly. "Oh. You were thinking about Honor and Emmaline."
"Missin' 'em a little."
Baby Emma was the apple of her father's eye, and Charlie swallowed the lump in his throat as he thought of her. His niece looked just like her mother, but she had Blade's wicked sense of humor, and she'd stolen Charlie's heart the moment she first looked into his eyes.
"Hopefully we're home in a couple of weeks," he said. "I wish you hadn't come. Emma will never forgive me for stealing you away. I won't be her favorite uncle anymore."
"Barrons might dispute that fact."
"Aye, well we all know the truth. I'm her favorite."
"'Ow's Lark?"
Charlie tilted his face to the clouds, shutting his eyes. "She was upset this morning."
"I could see that. Why?"
He shrugged and told Blade what he knew.
Which, admittedly, wasn't very much.
"...I don't know if she lied to me, but there's definitely something she's hiding." It bothered him.
"Strange. You two seem thick as thieves again," Blade muttered.
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Even he heard the edge in his voice. "Maybe she hasn't truly forgiven me yet."
"She forgive you years ago."
"It doesn't feel like it."
"Well, mebbe that's because you ain't forgiven yourself yet." Blade clapped him on the shoulder. "Sure you ain't seein' reproach just 'cos you're lookin' for it? Mebbe it ain't 'er. Mebbe it's in your 'ead?"
Charlie chewed the thought. Damn it. He dug both thumbs under the arch of his brows. "Perhaps a little. I told Gemma I could do this, but.... I hate being responsible for other people's lives. Especially Lark's. I keep hesitating when I should be acting. I keep thinking about that night."
"You should never have been there. You buggered up. You paid the price. But the cost o' Tin Man's life weren't ever on your tally. You think I don't regret what 'appened? I were the one who went up 'gainst the prince consort. I started the whole bloody revolution. And I knew we'd lose people along the way. Mebbe it's my fault? It's the price we paid for freedom. And if you 'esitate now, you might get someone killed."
Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
"You're a regular bundle of cheer this morning."
"Speakin' of cheerful, anythin' else I ought to know about?" The way Blade said it unsettled him. Far too casual.
"Like what?"
"'Eard tell there's a bet runnin' 'bout the identity of the future Mrs. Todd."
Bloody. Fucking. Hell. "I swear I am going to kill Byrnes."
"Good luck." Blade laughed. "Apparently nobody'll take 'is bet."
"Oh, poor Byrnes."
"Poor you. Seems the odds aren't great. Everyone thinks it's a foregone conclusion, so now they're bettin' on whether you've kissed 'er yet."
This was a conversation he never wanted to have with Blade. "How about we pretend you didn't overhear that?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
"If I surrender, will you leave me be?" he groaned. "Nothing is happening between us. We're in Russia. It's dangerous. We've both got to keep a clear head."
"Goin' that well, eh? You want some advice?" Blade rested both wrists on his knees.
Everybody wanted to give him advice these days. "Have you been conspiring with Leo? Is this some grand plan between the two of you to matchmake? You're as bad as Honor and Lena."
Amusement gleamed in Blade's eyes. But he didn't say a word.
"Well, lay it on me." No point holding off the inevitable.
"You said she lied to you. Well, women don't keep secrets for no reason."
Not what he'd expected.
Charlie stilled. So there was something she was hiding. "Before today, I would have said Lark and I had no secrets from each other."
"And now?"
Blade didn't look surprised, and Charlie's mind started racing. "I could have sworn when I burst into the room where she was fighting the leader of the Black Wolves, that she was speaking Russian. Not just mangling it the way I do, but speaking almost fluently."
"Was she."
Charlie sat up straight. "You know something. What the hell is going on here?"
Suspicions were starting to coalesce.
Blade should never have been on this mission. He had a wife and a daughter at home, and an entire rookery to run. And he'd already admitted he hadn't come for Charlie's sake, though he didn't doubt Blade was keeping an eye on him too.
"Is she in trouble?"
Blade ignored him. "D'you know... the servants 'ere 'ave mostly 'ad their tongues removed or their vocal cords cut."
"I don't see what the...."
He slammed to a halt as a half dozen facts hit him at once.
Tin Man had lost his tongue at some point. He'd been the one who taught both he and Lark how to sign.
Lark spoke Russian.
She'd been two seconds away from walking out in that coffeehouse before he offhandedly spoke a Russian word, and then she'd changed her mind.
Nobody knew where she'd come from. It wasn't some big secret, but it was simply that everyone in the Warren assumed Lark didn't know.
What if she did?
What if there was a reason she'd been so upset this morning?
Blade tapped the side of his nose. "Ain't a lot I can tell you, Charlie, without breakin' certain confidences. But if you were to ask the right questions of the right person...."
"She'd clam up tighter than a miser's purse," he growled, knowing Lark too well.
"Mebbe. Just remember.... 'Ow do we stalk a cat?"
It was a game Blade had taught them in the rookeries as children, when he'd been testing whether they were ready to join the crew on jobs. If you couldn't take Puss unawares, then you weren't ready for housebreaking.
"Patiently," Charlie said, pushing to his feet. "And quietly. You don't ever let them know you're stalking them."
"Good luck."
A brief rap came at Lark's bedroom door.
She'd slept for most of the morning, then awoken to find Nadezhda quietly placing a tray on her vanity. Sleep had eluded her after that. She kept thinking of the stranger in Grigoriev Palace, and the family portrait featuring Dmitri.
No matter how many times she turned the memories over in her mind, she was no closer to an answer. She'd been a little girl when she left Russia, and while she remembered the color of Dima's hair, and the way he'd roll his eyes when she and Katya squabbled, she couldn't quite recall the precise details of his face. Everything seemed washed out and diluted.
There'd been no point remaining in bed, so she'd dressed and settled at the vanity to sip her bloodied tea and tidy her hair. Tin Man used to do it for her when she was upset, and nothing settled her nerves like a brush gliding through her hair.
"Are you awake?" Charlie called through the door.
"Yes."
"Are you decent?"
Lark slanted a glance toward him. "Perhaps you should open the door
and find out?"
Nothing.
She could practically imagine the stunned look on his face and smiled to herself. Then the door cracked open—as she'd known it would—and Charlie slipped inside.
Wind dashed his blond hair across his brow rakishly, and his shirt was unbuttoned to his collarbone, as it always was when he was at home. The strong muscles of his throat dipped into a hollow at the base she suddenly wanted to taste. Every time she saw him she wanted to touch him.
Her girlish feelings for him had all been innocent—dreams of kissing him, at most. But now she felt a restless, furious itch of pure lust whenever she looked at him. Especially after the feel of his skin slick against hers in the baths, and the heated way he'd pushed her against the pool walls, his tongue tangling with hers. The hunger pushed against the insides of her skin, demanding she give in.
There was nothing innocent about those memories.
Nothing innocent about her desires now.
She wanted his hands on her skin in places she'd never been touched.
She wanted to explore every inch of him with her lips and mouth. To make him beg for mercy.
And she wanted to curl in his arms and lose herself forever.
"Would you like me to take my shirt off so you can get a closer look?" he mused, splaying his arms wide. "The way you're staring is a little indecent, my dear. Especially for just friends."
Lark looked swiftly away, toying with her brush. "I think that would be unwise."
"Oh, I know." He slipped up behind her, leaning over her shoulder and plucking her fan up for a closer look. "Who knows what would happen if I was to strip to my skin? Might be a repeat performance of the other night, sans the actual baths, but we wouldn't want that, would we?"
He flipped the fan open, the feathery fronds brushing against her throat. Their eyes met in the mirror, and she could see he meant mischief.
Lark swallowed. Hard.
She could feel him at her back. Not quite caging her in, but making her aware of him. All that hard muscle surrounding her. All she had to do was lean back and she'd be in his arms.
Lark ducked under his arm and escaped, sweeping toward the corner as she rubbed the goosebumps from her arms. "I think one of us wants that."