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

by Bec McMaster

  "You look lovely this morning." Gemma could probably wear a hessian sack and still have it look like it had been made for her. "Are we heading to a ball? My invitation must have gotten lost."

  "As Lady Hollis Beechworth, who is accompanying Lord Barrons on this diplomatic mission, I have certain standards to maintain."

  "Consider them maintained," Leo said smoothly.

  "Now I see where you get it from. Well?" Gemma asked Charlie, bumping her shoulder against his. "Where's the last member of our team?"

  "She'll come." He stared at the soft hint of dawn light in London's east, his fingers tapping on the airship's rail.

  "We're leaving in an hour."

  "She'll be here." He didn’t quite cross his fingers.

  "She?" Leo asked.

  "Lark."

  Leo mouthed something speechlessly, and then laughed under his breath. "Well, that was unexpected."

  "Why is it unexpected?" Gemma's gaze honed in on Charlie. "You told me she was an expert."

  "She is." Thanks for nothing, brother.

  "I wasn't aware Lark had made amends with you," Leo said diplomatically. "That's my only reason for surprise."

  Gemma looked back and forth between them. "Amends?"

  "Just a little misunderstanding, Gem," Charlie assured her.

  "Is this going to be a problem?"

  "Absolutely not. Lark knows the game as well as I do. She's intelligent, capable, and ruthless when she wants to be. She is—" His breath caught. "Here."

  A shadow dissolved out of the other shadows on the docks. Lean and lithe, Lark always moved as though she slipped between air particles rather than merely walking. One part wraith, one part cat.

  All dangerous.

  Especially in a pair of trousers that showed off her legs, a gray waistcoat nipped in sharply at the waist, and a dark green velvet coat over the top that fit snugly enough to show she definitely wasn't male. Once upon a time, she'd worn baggy boys’ clothes that hung off her, but she seemed to have struck a balance between gentleman's attire and her burgeoning femininity.

  Or maybe she was just intent on torturing him these days.

  Their eyes met, and Lark shot him a challenging look as she made her way up the gangplank.

  Gemma nudged him in the ribs, and the breath expelled from his lungs.

  "I begin to see the problem," she said dryly. "Just make sure you keep your mind on the job. And not on how tight those trousers are."

  Charlie rubbed his side. "Careful now, Gem. You've been leading the team for barely a fortnight and you're already starting to sound like Malloryn."

  Gemma scowled.

  "Bollocks. That's the exact same expression he wears when he's about to chastise the hell out of us. If you start lecturing me about fraternization among Rogues, then I'm going to have to sit you down and get some whiskey into you."

  "Believe me," Gemma said. "I'm starting to feel a distinct sense of empathy for Malloryn right now. You said the girl was the best thief in the business. You said we needed her for the job. You did not say there's history between the pair of you. Or that she's 'the one.'"

  He bitterly regretted ever mentioning “there was a girl" as Lark strode up the gangplank. Gemma had caught him at a weak moment.

  "How the hell would you even guess it's her?" he demanded under his breath.

  "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it's the fact you gained a pathetic lovesick expression on your face when she appeared. You were practically undressing her in your mind's eye. And she was trying to incinerate you with her gaze."

  "Who are you and what have you done with Gemma?" The real Gemma would have leered at him and made some sort of suggestive comment by now. The real Gemma would have started offering him incredibly frank tips on how to seduce Lark, and then started chortling about his poor "virgin ears" when he colored up.

  She pressed her fingers to her temples. "I cannot afford to be Gemma right now. This mission rests on a knife's edge. I've spent every day and night since they took Malloryn trying to work out how to get him back. You springing this on me right now is enough to make me want to hit something."

  Lark turned toward him, eyeing the crew and the Rogues who were on deck with a watchful eye.

  "Introduce us," Gemma said.

  "No." Not when she was in this mood. He stepped between the two women. "Trust me, Gem. The last thing Lark's ever going to do is let me put my hands on her. You want Malloryn back? Then you need to trust me. Lark and I aren't precisely friends anymore, but she's a professional. You told me to put together a team Balfour wouldn't expect. Well, I did. You're the distraction. You, Barrons, Obsidian, and Byrnes and the others..., Balfour's got files on all of you. He knows you. He'll expect you.

  "But he doesn't know me. He doesn't know Lark or Herbert. This is my chosen extraction team, and you need to trust me."

  Over her shoulder, Leo was trying unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter with his fist.

  "Fine." Gemma stabbed a finger into Charlie's chest. "We don't have time to make alterations to our plans. The girl comes. But if there are any more revelations I need to know about...."

  "You'll be the first to know," he promised.

  "Now go meet your girl."

  "She is not my girl," he told her under his breath. "And if you breathe a word of that little discussion we had that one time...."

  Gemma's smile stretched like the Cheshire cat's. "Would I do that, Charlie? Would I throw you under the carriage like that?"

  "Just remember who the only Rogue on your side was when you were sneaking out of the house to bat your lashes at the enemy."

  If Gemma's gaze was sharpened, it would have stabbed him.

  He made an abrupt about-face before she could reply, and swiftly intercepted Lark. Behind her, he could see several of the other Rogues watching on with interest. Ava and Ingrid were probably safe, but he could see Byrnes's expression narrowing with speculation, and Kincaid paused by his side to mutter something.

  "You came."

  Despite his promise to Gemma, he hadn't been entirely certain.

  She looked almost disinterested, but that was Lark. "Someone's got to watch your fool back."

  "It must have been the 'impossible break and enter.'"

  "I swear, if you gloat...."

  "I'm not going to gloat."

  She gave him a long look and he grinned.

  "Maybe a little."

  "Who is that woman you were arguing with?" Lark asked, trying to peer over his shoulder.

  "Gemma Townsend, current leader of the Rogues and this entire expedition."

  "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

  Charlie reared back, instantly on alert. "I hadn't noticed."

  That earned him an arched brow.

  "I mean, yes, it's quite obvious she's beautiful. But she's old enough to be my sister, and seems to have taken such a notion to account." Gemma must have met Honoria in another life, for the pair of them treated him like he was thirteen and needed his ears boxed. "She's also very firmly spoken for."

  "Don't worry," Lark purred as she stepped past him. "I'm not jealous, Charlie. I have no reason to be."

  "I didn't expect it of you." Lie. He'd hoped. "Just don't want you mistakenly blurting out something that might get my ears boxed."

  Or worse, earn him a private little chat with Obsidian, Gemma's paramour.

  "My trunk's in the steam carriage." Lark glanced one more time at Gemma.

  "I'll see it's brought aboard." Charlie offered her his arm. "Your cabin's this way."

  "What the hell have you got in this thing?" Charlie demanded, hauling Lark's trunk into her room.

  "Nothing important." She gave the other end a shove, and somehow they got the trunk through the door.

  Lark had been given her own quarters, a narrow room with a set of bunk beds nailed to the wall. The round porthole showed a glimpse of the airfield around them.

  “I mean, I know I’m carrying some serious weaponry,” he protest
ed, “but this is extreme.”

  “You brought all your toys?” she asked, with a droll roll of the eyes.

  He grinned. He’d been dying to show her what he’d been tinkering with, of late. “Oh, no. You haven’t seen any of my creations in recent years. I’ve been working with Jack—our weapons guru in London—and Kincaid.”

  Reaching into his pocket, he plucked out one of the smooth golden orbs he’d devised. He kept one around for when he was feeling anxious, so he could roll it over and under his fingers to take the edge off. “This, for example, is a little something I designed six months ago. I based it off Mina’s creepy little spider listening device.”

  His sister-in-law had all the coolest gadgets.

  “What does it do?” Lark tried not to look interested.

  “Watch.” Rolling it across the floor, he took the small activator device from his pocket. “I haven’t named it yet, but it works exceptionally well.”

  The golden orb rolled normally, but the second he pressed the button, it quivered. The two halves of the orb split open, rearranging themselves into a small, hardened carapace and spindly legs suddenly appeared.

  “A spider?”

  “You said the Imperial Ravens are enhanced with meshwork,” he murmured. “Well, I designed this with my own Cyclops suit in mind. They were invincible during the revolution, which started me thinking about what we’d do if someone used them against us.”

  The little creature immediately scuttled toward the metal edges of the trunk, and started attacking it, trying to find a vulnerable point in the metal.

  “Its magnets attract it to steel, particularly the fine cables used to control meshwork suits. It’s designed to locate the arterial connections, and destroy them. A lash of current, and there goes the suit. Its only got enough charge for one hit, but I used it on my Cyclops, and it incapacitated the left leg. Had to rebuild all the bloody connections again to get it working.”

  “A golden widow,” Lark mused. “Its bite is lethal.”

  He flashed her a smile and recalled the little spider. It rolled back to his feet in orb shape, and he plucked it up and tucked it in his pocket. “Golden Widow, it is. Want to watch us take off?"

  She seemed distracted again. "No. I'd best stay here for the moment. You go."

  Unusual. He'd been looking forward to this moment all morning, knowing Lark would love being aboard an airship for the first time.

  Charlie sank onto the lower bunk, his hands folded between his knees. "Thank you. For coming. I know we've had our differences of late, but—"

  "It's fine," she blurted. "Don't you want to go topside? They're casting off the mooring ropes."

  His eyes narrowed. "What are you up to?"

  "Nothing."

  "You are." He suddenly straightened to his full height. "Do you think I can't tell when you're plotting something?"

  He followed her gaze to the trunk. Lark swiftly glanced away.

  The airship gave a jolt as the engines shuddered. Charlie swayed with the action, bracing himself against the bunk. They were clearly off, and he'd missed it all, but none of that mattered.

  "Lark." He strode toward the trunk. "What have you got in here?"

  She leaped in front of him, hands to his chest. "It wasn't my idea! It was the only way he'd allow me to come."

  A chill raced down his spine. There was only one man who'd be brave enough to tell Lark she could or couldn't come. And the trunk had been peculiarly heavy.

  "Lark." His voice lowered with soft menace. "Open the trunk."

  Pressing a hand over her eyes, she stepped aside with a sigh. "I'll allow you that honor."

  Charlie flipped the latches and shoved the lid open, filled with a sense of trepidation.

  "'Bout bloody time," Blade said, unfolding from where he'd been curled up amongst Lark's clothes.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Charlie's jaw dropped. This was a disaster. "Did Honoria send you?"

  Blade set both hands on either side of the chest and pushed himself out of it. He brushed off his red velvet waistcoat. "Thought you was never goin' to open it."

  "Blade."

  His brother-in-law had dyed his hair dark, so there was no sign of any of his usual silvery blond strands. It made him look a little more dangerous than usual. "No. 'Onor didn't send me, though we discussed it. But I ain't 'ere for you."

  He turned those cunning green eyes on Lark.

  "I'm 'ere to keep 'er 'ead on 'er neck."

  Charlie groaned. How the hell was he going to tell Gemma they had a stowaway?

  Chapter 4

  "Ah, Sir Henry," Gemma called, as Blade and Lark entered the stateroom they were using to hold the briefing in. "How good of you to join us."

  Charlie winced.

  If he closed his eyes, he'd probably still be able to hear the strident tones of her voice demanding to know just how someone had snuck aboard an allegedly secret mission.

  "Blade'll do," Blade replied. Despite the fact he'd served three years on the Council that ruled the city and was widely renowned as the "Hero of the Realm" for his role in the prince consort's downfall, he hated being called Sir Henry.

  "And this is Miss Rathinger," Gemma's voice softened as she beheld Lark, "the last legitimate member of our expedition."

  "Lark, if you'll please," Lark replied,

  She took the seat directly opposite Charlie, looking particularly fetching in a pair of tight leather leggings, a white shirt, and a black velvet over-corset that hugged her narrow waist and created curves in places he'd never truly noticed before.

  At least, not on her.

  Lark noticed him noticing, and her hazel eyes narrowed to thin slits, her fingers flicking in sign language. "What's wrong with my outfit?"

  "Nothing's wrong," he replied, cocking his finger just so. She'd changed while he'd been trying to explain the whole mess to Gemma.

  "Then why are you staring?"

  "Because you have a little something... right here...." He indicated his chest, and Lark looked down, as if expecting to find a tea stain or something.

  He could practically feel the moment she realized what he'd been referring to. Heat burned into her cheeks, and while her retaliatory look might have been able to make a lesser man's balls shrivel, he was long-since immune.

  "They're called breasts, you idiot."

  "I'm well acquainted, thank you." His fingers stalled. "Not with yours. With the general area of female anatomy."

  "I'll bet."

  "I'm trying to compliment you." Badly. "I like the... corset."

  Lark rolled her eyes. "I'll see if the dressmaker can make one in your size."

  Charlie slowly became aware that Byrnes, who was sitting next to him, was watching the flick of fingers with a very rapt expression.

  "Uh-oh," Byrnes murmured to his wife, Ingrid, who was sitting on the other side of him. "I recognize that look. Fifty quid we've just met the future Mrs. Todd."

  Ingrid's bronze eyes swiftly examined both him and Lark. "I'm not taking that bet."

  No. No, no, no, no. It had been all fun and games last month, when they were betting on whether Malloryn would get his bride to the altar or not.

  He did not want to be subject of the next Rogues betting book.

  Kincaid, the burly blue blood who'd once been a mech, leaned forward. "What bet?"

  "No bet," Charlie said quickly. "There is no bet."

  Everyone around the table looked at him.

  "We'll talk later," Byrnes, the treacherous bastard, told Kincaid. He clapped a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Why don't you introduce the rest of us?"

  Charlie gave him a dirty look "Lark, this is Caleb Byrnes, an ex-Nighthawk who has far too much time on his hands; his lovely wife, Ingrid, a verwulfen bounty hunter who could probably rip your throat out if she wanted to; Liam Kincaid, a mech who is now a blue blood and thrilled with the transformation; his fiancée, Ava McLaren, a crime scene investigator with the Nighthawks; Herbert's the one who looks like a b
utler and will be trying to offer you tea every second, but don't think him any the less dangerous; you've met Gemma Townsend, the leader of this motley crew; and uh, Obsidian, who is...."

  He broke off. How the hell could you explain Obsidian?

  "A former assassin who worked for Lord Balfour," Obsidian replied.

  Blade looked interested. "Former as in, you don't murder people no more, or former as in, you don't work for Balfour no more?"

  "I'm making my own choices in life now. When it comes to Lord Balfour, however, there might be a little bit of something bloody left in me."

  "Fair 'nough." Blade took the seat at the head of the table.

  "And Barrons, you both know." Charlie tilted his head toward his elder half-brother, who was watching proceedings with a faintly amused expression.

  "Aye, we've met," Blade replied. "Bastard tried to steal me wife."

  "I was trying to rescue her," Barrons pointed out. "She'd fallen in with a group of ruffians in the East End who were eminently unsuitable for her."

  The pair of them grinned at each other.

  "Wasn't expecting you on this mission," Barrons added.

  "Blade has decided to join us." Gemma didn't sound happy about it. "Now we all know each other, you may consider this your briefing." Gemma leaned both hands flat on the table. "We're due to arrive in Saint Petersburg in six days. Lord Barrons is our excuse to enter Russia. He's accepted a diplomatic invitation on behalf of the queen to attend the tsarina's celebrations. We expect Lord Balfour will be in attendance. So Barrons is going to—"

  "Swan around, looking pretty," Barrons mused.

  "And keep Balfour's attention," she added.

  "Will do my best."

  "The Crimson Court is a merciless place, and the only protection we have is diplomatic immunity. Balfour knows who we all are, and the second we arrive he's going to know why we're there. The tsarina's celebrations continue for ten days, so we've got ten days to work out where Balfour is keeping Malloryn, break in, pull him out, and escape Russia. And we're going to have to do it all in plain sight while charming a bunch of aristocrats who all want to rip our throats out."