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

by Bec McMaster

  He subdued a smile. Gemma didn't need to know he had plans to extend her sojourn as leader of the group. Not just yet, anyway. "The next time you complain about my highhandedness, I'm going to remind you of this moment." He paused to kiss her cheek. "And don't think I didn't notice your attempts at distracting me just then."

  "I wasn't trying to hide it. Come to dinner. The rest of the Rogues are dying to see you."

  He wanted to hide in these rooms until he could be assured no one else would see through him.

  But such an act would be more telling than anything else.

  Malloryn offered her his arm. "Of course. Dinner sounds excellent. I just have one more question.... How many times have you forged my signature in the past?"

  "Welcome back, Malloryn!" Charlie called as the duke sat at the head of the table. He lifted his glass and the rest of the Rogues followed suit.

  The duke arched a brow as he surveyed them all, though the expression lacked its usual bite. "I’ll be honest and admit that I don’t know what to say right now."

  "That would be a first," Kincaid mused.

  "You could start by thanking us," Byrnes called, one arm slung along the back of Ingrid's chair. "We risked life and limb to come rescue you."

  Malloryn's steely gaze grew even flintier. "And whilst I am incredibly grateful for such an act, it was insanely dangerous."

  "I did point that out," Byrnes said, "but nobody wanted to listen to me."

  "Here’s to the Company of Rogues," Charlie called, lifting his glass again in a toast.

  "And our new honorary members," Ava added, smiling at Lark and Blade.

  Malloryn looked at Blade.

  Blade looked at Malloryn.

  "Don’t worry, I ain’t stayin’."

  "Good." Malloryn’s smile softened. "Because I spend quite enough time arguing with you on the council. It wouldn’t end well. However, I’ve heard your protégé intends to join." Malloryn glanced at Lark. "We met earlier, I believe, though you’ll forgive me if my manners were less than impeccable. Thank you for your assistance. Gemma tells me you found the key piece of information required to find Ava and me."

  "You weren’t so bad, Your Grace," Lark replied. "And it was a stroke of luck, nothing more."

  "Well, to add to the general air of merriment, Ava and I would like to make an announcement," Kincaid said, glancing at Ava. "Do you think we could all charge our glasses?"

  All the ladies sucked in a sharp breath. Herbert passed the decanter of blud-wein around and found a glass for Malloryn.

  "Come on, Kincaid," Ingrid groaned. "The suspense is killing us."

  "As soon as we arrive home," Kincaid finally continued, "we are getting married. We've set the wedding date. You're all invited. Except Byrnes. He’s only a maybe."

  Byrnes snorted as a chorus of congratulations echoed around the table. "I'm going to be the best man."

  "Isn't that my decision?" Kincaid argued.

  "No." Byrnes looked affronted. "I had to practically sit on you to stop you from running headlong into a house full of vampires. You punched me, and I showed remarkable restraint in not retaliating. If that's not best man duties, then I don't know what is."

  "Oh, that's so wonderful!" Ingrid leaned down to give Ava a hug from behind, and Gemma circled the table to add her congratulations.

  "Looks like it's your turn next," Byrnes said, nudging Obsidian in the ribs.

  "Hmm." The dhampir assassin looked across the table at Charlie. "If my calculations are correct, Charlie’s known Lark longer than I’ve known Gemma. And as her older brother, it would be remiss of me not to remind him he's dabbling with my sister's reputation. "

  Charlie choked on his wine.

  Lark, for some reason, smirked.

  "Oh, that would be lovely," Ava said, clapping her hands together.

  "I'm not the only unmarried Rogue," Charlie blurted. He gestured to Herbert.

  "I'm afraid you're wrong, Master Charlie," Herbert said, with the faintest of smiles. "I don't think Mrs. Herbert would appreciate it if I glanced at another woman. It wouldn't be seemly."

  "You're married?" Byrnes set his cup of wine down. "Why is this the first we've heard of this?"

  "Because you've never asked," Hebert replied.

  "But where is she? Who is she? We want to meet her," Byrnes declared.

  "Oh, she doesn't like the bother."

  Blade shook his head. "O' course 'e's married. Ain't anyone noticed the white line 'round his ring finger? Wears 'is ring 'round his neck."

  "Very good, sir," Herbert replied politely. "I won't ask how you noticed that."

  "Notice everythin'. Best way not to get yourself killed."

  "Wait, wait, wait." Kincaid splayed his hands wide in the air, still trying to deal with the revelation. "Are you trying to say you're a Mr. Herbert? And not a Herbert McHerbert, or whatever it may be?"

  "For a company of spies, you're all quite blind in some ways."

  Charlie slung his arm along the back of Lark's chair as Byrnes and Kincaid started demanding more details from poor Herbert.

  "You threw him to the hounds, you evil sod," Lark mused.

  "Better him than me," he breathed in her ear. "I was two seconds away from getting a lecture from Gemma about making an honest woman out of you."

  "Good luck with that," she said with a grin.

  "Honest might be a push, my dear little thief." Charlie wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger. "But don't be too surprised if I ask you to marry me one day soon. You're mine, my love. I spent years waiting patiently, but I don't think I have that much more patience left in me."

  This time it was Lark's turn to choke on her wine.

  The sun set over the Baltic Sea as Charlie made his way across the deck. Lark was in her favorite place in the bow of the airship, leaning into the wind as if she were flying herself. They hadn't had a moment to themselves since they'd embarked.

  "How do you feel?" Charlie murmured, sliding his arms around her waist.

  "About Obsidian?"

  "Mmmm."

  Lark leaned back against his chest. "It's an unusual feeling. He feels like a stranger who is suddenly a part of my life. I don't know him at all, and yet... I think I want to." She nibbled on her lip. "I never expected to meet my family. I'd buried them in my heart, so I think it shall a bit of getting used to."

  "The pair of you will work it out. If it's any consolation, I think it will be easy. You're both similar in some ways."

  "Similar?"

  "Solitary, brooding, and you both own a certain penchant for knives." He kissed the back of her neck. "I think he's developing a sense of humor, though it's taking a bit to get used to. I'm not quite certain if he means it when he promises to dangle me over the edge of the airship if I don't make an honest woman out of you. He actually told me that after you left the room."

  Lark groaned. "Oh, God. I spent years with Blade, Will, and Tin Man clucking over me like overbearing uncles. Now I actually have an overbearing brother."

  "If you form an alliance with Gemma, you'll probably be able to thwart him."

  A calculating gleam appeared in her eyes, and Charlie suddenly understood the error of his ways.

  Pairing Lark and Gemma was never going to end well for either him or Obsidian.

  Two mischievous women with wicked ways?

  "Of course, I don't think he'd be like that," he added swiftly. "And Gemma's... Gemma. She can be a little unpredictable."

  "Live in fear, Charlie," she said with a chuckle. "Live. In. Fear. Besides, I might have already created an alliance."

  She lifted her chin, her braid blowing behind her in the wind as she closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun.

  There was a lightness in her being that made him catch his breath. He'd never realized, before Russia, that there was such a weight on her shoulders, but now it was gone.

  "I never actually thanked you for coming to Russia with me," he murmured, sweeping the spill of her hair over
her shoulder. Bending down, he brushed his mouth across the gentle bump of her spine. A shiver ran through her, and he opened his mouth and suckled her smooth skin.

  "You don't have to thank me." Lark turned around, sliding her arms around his waist. When she looked up, her eyes were dark with need and smoky with heat. "How could I let the man I love walk into danger without me?"

  "I love hearing you say that."

  "Always," she admitted, biting her lip. "Since the first moment I saw you, though it took me a while to realize what, exactly, I was feeling. You were my best friend and confidant. My nemesis. My prime source of aggravation. You were my Charlie. It was horrifying to realize I wanted to kiss you when I was sixteen. There you were, looking like you'd fallen directly from heaven, and there I was, dressed in grubby breeches. I was a—"

  "Princess," he pointed out. "A real Russian princess in disguise."

  Lark's eyes narrowed. "I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?"

  "We could make a deal," he mused. "There's a certain nickname I could spend my lifetime never hearing again, if I never call you a princess."

  "Why do you hate it so much?"

  "It's not very manly," he said gruffly.

  Lark reached up to cup his cheek. "Do you know why they call you that? It's because you are sweet, Charlie. You are kind, and protective, and loyal, and not afraid to show it. You shouldn't be ashamed of it." Her voice lowered. "And you are very, very wicked when you want to be."

  "Speaking of," he mused, bumping his nose against hers. "I hear you have a cabin all to yourself."

  "Aren't you afraid my dhampir brother is going to come knocking and ask about my reputation?" she teased.

  "I've known you longer. He's just going to have to get used to it."

  Lark pretended to consider it. "On one condition. No. Two."

  "Yes?"

  "One: You're not allowed to complain when I slide my cold feet against yours. And two: I am very curious. We've barely had a chance to experiment. There are certain things I recall from Miss Jasmine's that I want to explore in greater depth."

  Charlie brushed his hand down her cheek, his voice roughening. "Why don't we go and continue that experiment right now?"

  "It’s a deal," she whispered.

  BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE LONDON STEAMPUNK WORLD

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed To Catch A Rogue, then get ready for Dukes Are Forever—the thrilling conclusion to the London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy series.

  When the Duke of Malloryn suspects his wife is a spy planted by his old nemesis, Lord Balfour, he intends to seduce the truth from her….

  Available now:

  Mission: Improper

  The Mech Who Loved Me

  You Only Love Twice

  To Catch A Rogue

  Want to know when the next London Steampunk book arrives? Here are some ways to stay updated:

  * Sign up to my newsletter

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  *Or join my Facebook Fan Group for all the exclusive stuff!

  If you want to share your thoughts with other readers, please consider leaving a review online (it doesn’t have to be very long and I would be very grateful). Click here to leave a review for To Catch A Rogue.

  I hope we meet again between the pages of another book!

  Cheers,

  Bec McMaster

  P.S Not ready to leave London? Read on for a preview of what's next for Malloryn and Adele in Dukes Are Forever…

  Dukes Are Forever

  Coming 2019

  PRE-ORDER NOW

  Four months later....

  It was a kiss like no other.

  The touch of his lips burned her, his hand sliding over her nape and bending her body into his embrace. Adele Cavill, the Duchess of Malloryn, drew back a hand and slapped the man, though her heart was suddenly racing and she knew for one desperate second that she hadn't fought him as hard as she should have. "Sir, you take too many liberties."

  "I should like to take more," Geoffrey Devoncourt whispered.

  For a moment she was almost tempted. Her lips still tingled. The sounds of the ball washed over her. "I'm no whore," she said firmly, "to cuckold my husband."

  "No?" Devoncourt smiled, tracing her cheek with the back of his hand. "Then where is your fine husband? If you're such a loyal wife why aren't you in his bed right now?"

  Because I've never been in his bed. Adele bit her lip. Never been kissed. Never been held. Barely even glanced at as I sit at our dining table each morning and stare at Malloryn over the baked kippers and extravagant repast.

  All her fault, of course.

  She'd been the one to use the Duke of Malloryn's opposition to a recent trend amongst young blue bloods of ruining young girls to trap him into marriage. And she couldn't for one second deny that she would do it all over again if she had the chance. For the first time in years she was safe and protected from the blue bloods who'd mercilessly stalked the Echelon, hunting for those young debutantes that strayed from the glittering lights of the ballrooms.

  With her reputation in tatters from one such incident, the only lord willing to marry her had been Lord Abagnale, a man who'd buried three consorts—and, it was rumored, had placed them in the grave himself.

  Malloryn was her blessing, but he'd made it eminently clear that whilst she would bear his name, she would never bear his children or share his life. Indeed, she'd heard rumors of a mistress.

  His bed, at least, wasn't as cold as hers.

  He'd damned well told her to "make her own arrangements."

  And he'd vanished for near on a month without even so much as a "by the way" before suddenly reappearing again. She didn't even know where he'd been. Norway, he'd said. Urgent business.

  But it wouldn't have been the first time Malloryn lied to her.

  Those tempting fingertips cupped her cheeks. Adele looked up helplessly as Devoncourt stroked his thumb over her mouth.

  "I think," he murmured, "your silence is answer enough." His face lowered to hers, his warm breath brushing against her sensitive lips, bringing a sudden yearning to life within her breast. Not for the hidden meaning behind his words, but this.... She didn't think she could fight this, the careful tenderness of his touch. It ached in her chest, a longing to turn her cheek into the palm of his hand, to press it there and feel, just for one moment, what it was like to be cared for.

  To be touched.

  "I can't," she whispered, because she'd made a promise in her heart to be true to her husband, a means of repaying him for the lie she'd told that had seen them married.

  Devoncourt stepped away, his gloved hand falling from her face. "When you have thrown off the shackles of your morals, you know where to find me. I shall love you, Adele."

  Love. What a mockery.

  "I shall show you things that will make your heart beat forever with the sound of my name. I shall worship at your feet.... All you have to do is say yes."

  Auvry Cavill, the Duke of Malloryn, stalked inside the study he kept at 45 Hardcastle Street, instantly soothed by the scent of leather and cognac. The headquarters for what he—and several of his compatriots—jokingly referred to as the Company of Rogues was becoming more of a home these days than his own.

  Part of the reason for that had thick, golden ringlets, a figure more rightly suited to a Botticelli, and a clear adoration for extravagant silk gowns and feathered hats.

  His wife.

  With her devious green eyes and a ruthless streak of cunning that almost matched his own, Adele was the only person of his acquaintance who roused any sort of emotion within him these days. Malloryn rarely enjoyed being outplayed, and Adele had manipulated him into marriage with all the gall of a seasoned enemy general. He could almost have admired her determination, if he hadn't been the fox caught in her snare.

  The woman was downright r
uthless; all his friends had told him that.

  But by then it had been too late.

  How could one champion a cause, then protest otherwise when he'd been caught in the gardens of Lord Dalrymple's party with her? She'd practically thrown herself at him, making it clear they were in the prelude of something—whether a kiss or a bloodletting, he wasn't certain. Sometimes he thought he hated her the most for that. He'd done his duty, by God, and if she expected anything more, then their frosty silences over the dining room table had swiftly taught her otherwise.

  There was a swift rap at his study door, and for a second he flinched, taken unawares. His nerves were still recovering from Russia, though he'd be damned if he'd allow anyone to know that.

  Malloryn shrugged out of his coat and glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantle. His nine o'clock appointment. "Come in."

  Caleb Byrnes, one of his most experienced operatives, pushed inside.

  "We've finally found the operative we suspected has been placed within the Echelon." Byrnes slid a folder toward him, and then his cold blue eyes unexpectedly flitted over Malloryn, a hint of smothered humor within them. "He's been masquerading as the long-lost Earl of Devoncourt."

  Devoncourt?

  Malloryn had vague memories of the man from somewhere, though the acquaintance was fleeting at best. As part of the ruling Council that served the queen, he was far too busy to attend every ball and function. Besides, his wife was always in attendance and Malloryn wasn't that good an actor, to pretend theirs was any sort of marriage. "And this amuses you?"

  Byrnes laughed. "Oh no, it's not Devoncourt that amuses me. Keep reading."

  It could be anything. Byrnes had the worst sort of humor Malloryn had ever encountered.