by Bec McMaster
Brother.
It had been only three years since Barrons had first called him that. Charlie glanced at him. "What would the consequences of me punching a Russian aristocrat be?"
"Bad. Possibly catastrophic." Barrons gave a leonine shrug. "I wouldn’t worry about it. Lark just glanced this way twice. She’s not interested in him."
Charlie forced his hands into his pockets. "You can afford to say that. That’s not your…."
"Your?" Barrons arched a brow.
"Forget it." He had no true claim on Lark. They’d been friends, and then barely that. The relationship had never been anything more, despite his feelings in recent times.
"I understand how you feel," Barrons murmured, clapping him on the shoulder. "Mina led me a merry chase for years."
"This is different. Lark’s barely speaking to me. There’s always this… wall between us now."
"You do recall how Mina and I first met? She hated me and everything to do with the Duke of Caine. And if I can win her heart, then you have nothing to worry about. Do you want some advice?"
"Is there any choice?"
Barrons laughed. "Of course, there’s a choice. Unlike certain rookery thugs, I know when to keep my nose out of someone else’s business."
"Lay it on me," he muttered.
"I’ve seen the way Lark looks at you. Sometimes she leans into you, before she realizes she’s forgotten herself. When you enter the room, no one else exists in her eyes. Trust me. She doesn’t dislike you, Charlie. At all. But she’s holding herself back for some reason."
"Because I got her uncle killed."
He could never forget that night.
"I don’t think that’s it. If you want her then you need to break that wall down between you. You need to discover why she’s holding you at arm’s length. Be charming. Be there for her when she needs you. And be honest with her about how you feel. Maybe she’s uncertain of your feelings? Have you ever told her what she means to you?"
Charlie gave him a long, slow look. "Is it so obvious to everyone else?"
Barrons opened his mouth to say something, clearly changed his mind, and then simply nodded. "Yes."
Charlie sought her out again, flickers of red gleaming through the greenery. "I’ll think about it."
The blond Russian laughed at something she said, and then leaned down and captured Lark's mouth in a kiss.
Son of a bitch.
Charlie was two seconds away from heading into the garden to hand the bastard his teeth when Lark pushed him away with a laugh and vanished into the shrubbery.
There was a hand on his arm, restraining him. "Remember…. Don’t cause an international incident. Be suave, charming. Honest."
"I don’t feel very bloody suave right now," he growled.
"Try. Off you go, young protégé. Do me proud."
Gemma appeared out of nowhere, diverting Valentin with a smile, just as Barrons released him.
The second Charlie saw Lark swishing her way back across the lawns, he moved to intercept her.
"This way," he said.
"Aren't we returning to the ball?" Lark asked breathlessly, her cheeks rosy with mischief.
Charlie's hand in the middle of her back wasn't quite forceful as he steered her toward a pair of doors leading into the library.
"Not yet. I want a word."
Lark pressed her back to the glass doors in the library. It felt like the air was thick and heavy tonight. Or maybe it wasn't the air.
Maybe it was just the tension between them.
"Did you enjoy yourself just then?" Charlie's voice sounded a little rougher than he'd perhaps intended.
Lark snapped her fan open and shrugged. The scent of his cologne seemed to fill the space. A part of her wanted to bathe in it. To rub against him until the scent coated her own skin. "Are you talking about me kissing Valentin?"
"Yes," he growled.
Oh, she enjoyed the look on his face. "It was the job, wasn't it?"
"Lark."
"Yes," she said, lifting her chin in challenge. "He was quite proficient, if you must know—"
"Proficient? If I kissed you, I hope you'd have more to say about it than that I was proficient."
Her eyes narrowed. "Extremely proficient. Expert even, though I have little enough experience to compare it to. And it's nice to be appreciated by a man, to be wanted, to be seen as female."
Charlie's gaze dipped to her bodice, and he perused her with slow, smoky intent. Lark's breath came a little quicker, a shiver of sensation working between her thighs. She wasn't completely innocent. She knew what that sensation meant.
"I've always known you were female."
"No," she protested. "You saw me as a little girl. The difference is, Valentin treated me as if I was a woman."
His gaze slid to her lips.
Don't you dare, she thought.
Please, said another little voice.
Thankfully, it didn't come out. She couldn't bring herself to beg, not when he'd been the one to twist her into knots all those years ago without a care in the world.
"Do you want me to treat you as if you're a woman?"
Panic flared.
"It meant nothing," she admitted quietly. "It was just a meaningless stolen kiss, a chance to lure him where I needed him."
"Didn't look like that," Charlie murmured, splaying one hand on the door beside her head.
Lark's breasts lifted with her swift intake of breath as he leaned in. Nervousness lit through her, she who was never nervous. But then the stakes had never been this high before, and once she took this step....
"Were you jealous?" she whispered, needing to know.
Charlie turned his head just slightly, his breath caressing her jaw. "Were you trying to make me jealous?"
Yes. Heaven help me, yes.
"That doesn't answer the question," she replied boldly.
"Nor mine."
Curse him for not giving her the answer she needed. Why could he not make this easy for her?
Fingertips brushed against her hip, and Lark looked up sharply.
An inch separated their mouths. Only her hand against his chest held him at bay, but it was weakening and he knew it.
"You were right in some respects," he admitted. "I haven't been treating you as a woman. The last time we were friends, you were a girl. And I was just a boy. And I suppose if you want me to see you as a woman, then you need to accept I'm a man now too."
That had been apparent the moment those broad shoulders strode back into her life.
"You can't have it both ways. You can't flirt with me one second, then hold me at arm's length the next," he continued. "And you have been."
"It's not deliberate." She could scarcely breathe with him so close to her. "I'm not trying to... to encourage you and then push you away."
"No?"
"No. I'm just trying to find my feet with you now that everything's changed." She tipped her chin up. "And I'm not the only one flirting."
"Just not exclusively with me," he growled.
Lark ducked under his arm, needing some space. "For God's sake, Charlie, it was just a kiss. You've had dozens of them. You can at least allow me one."
His face gained a pained look. "Was that the first time you've ever been kissed?"
Lark couldn't reply. Heat crept into her cheeks.
"Holy shit," he exclaimed.
"Not all of us have dozens of hearts strewn at our feet every day."
"Lark—"
"You were never lacking in admirers," she pointed out. "I was the ugly duckling, but you've always been... you."
"And what precisely does that mean?"
He had to know what he looked like.
"You've always been handsome," she scoffed. "Girls sighed whenever you entered the room."
"One girl didn't."
"One girl knew there was no point even bothering."
"If you think there weren't boys looking at you when you were sixteen, then you're quite mista
ken. If you hadn't so heartily terrified half of them when you were younger, some of them might have even approached you. There was also the gauntlet of Blade, Will, and Rip scowling over your shoulder. Kind of makes a young lad reconsider his choices." He stepped closer, a determined look crossing his face. "But just so you know, if you'd given me even a hint of encouragement, I would have kissed you years ago." His voice roughened. "I'm more than willing to make up for lost chances now."
Lark circled a chair, resting her hands on the back of it. "Don't you dare."
Charlie's smile held all manner of sin. "Isn't this what young ladies dream of? Ball gowns and stealing away to libraries in the dark with young men?"
"It's not what I dreamed of."
"What's wrong, Lark? Nervous?"
She glanced around, but there was no escape.
"I'm glad we've had the chance to have this little chat." He lashed out and trapped her wrist. "Because I don't want there to be any more mistakes in intention."
The door burst open, a trio of drunken lordlings stumbling inside, one of them slung between the other two. They seemed surprised not to have the room to themselves.
Lark stole the chance to escape, breathlessly putting three paces between her and Charlie.
"Désolé, nous ne savions pas qu'il y avait quelqu'un ici," one of them said with a laugh.
"It's quite all right," she replied in perfect French. "We were just leaving."
She had one hand on the door when Charlie caught her attention.
"Lark," he called from behind her. "Yes. The answer is yes."
What was he—?
Jealous.
Charlie tipped his head to her, and Lark's heart started racing as she escaped into the hallway and returned to the ballroom.
It was one thing to flirt, quite another to have him announce his intended pursuit.
After all, he wasn't the one who'd get his heart broken.
Once in the ballroom, it was as if the conversation hadn't happened.
Charlie returned a minute or two after she did and cheerfully greeted Byrnes and Ingrid. He caught her watching him once or twice, the blue of his eyes heating, but Lark would swiftly look away and move on.
This was a disaster.
But she needed to focus.
Gemma had returned after her meeting with the mysterious Valentin Kosova, and slipped the listening device into Lark's hand.
"Balfour's desk, if you please," Gemma said, and moved on.
Dancers whirled. Champagne flowed. And Balfour and his wife mingled among the guests like excellent hosts, paying the Rogues little attention.
He didn't have to.
Lark used the champagne glass to shield her mouth from view as Charlie joined her. "The woman in green has been watching us surreptitiously for the past hour. She's not making it obvious, but she's definitely been advised to keep us in her sights."
She was cursing herself for wearing the red gown now.
Red was conspicuous, but Gemma had chosen the gown, not her. Surely she had a reason, though Lark couldn't imagine it.
Charlie lifted her gloved hand to his mouth. "I've marked another. Man by the enormous potted palm. He's good. Doesn't look at us very often. Dressed in livery, so he's attempting to look like one of the servants, but he just ignored a direct order from one of the Blood. Want to test our little theory?"
"What did you have in mind?"
"A promenade outside on the terrace. We’ll use the crowd to see if they’re following us."
Lark slipped her hand through his proffered elbow. "Lay on, MacDuff."
Charlie gave her an odd look as he escorted her toward the doors. "You do this very well, you know?"
"I know. I once slipped Lady Carmichael's bracelet right off her wrist at a masquerade party at the Venetian Gardens. She thought I was a mysterious gentleman. The skirts are a little more hampering though."
He pushed through the garden doors. "We're going to need a distraction."
There was certainly no shortage of eye-catching entertainment.
A hot air balloon floated above them, filled with giggling young dandies. Men belched fire on the lawns, another man swallowed a sword, and a dozen acrobats performed near miraculous flips and tumbles. Lark scanned the crowd. Perfect terrain for a pickpocket. Everyone was distracted.
"Ready to separate?" she murmured.
"Meet me in the upper hallway in ten minutes. We've got to shake our tail first." Charlie headed off in the opposite direction.
Lark slipped through the crowd, weaving between them swiftly.
She stole a handsome young baron's cloak from where it was cast over the balcony, swirling it about her shoulders as he pointed at the hot air balloon.
Then she was gone, moving like a shadow through the crowd as the woman in green tried to find her.
Red was an excellent target, but it also made one lazy.
Lark passed directly behind the woman as she clearly scanned for Lark. She was so close, she could have reached out and touched her.
Fireworks suddenly broke the stillness, the night sky shattering into violent coruscations of color. Inside the ballroom, the guests gasped and moved toward the windows, and the crowd on the terrace drew closer together. Moving swiftly would draw attention, so she sidled from group to group, watching as the woman in green started growing more and more frantic.
Lark met Charlie's eye across the terrace as he faded into the shadows of the enormous rearing horse statue guarding the stairs.
Perfect time to make our move.
Chapter 8
Lark slipped inside a dark room somewhere on the second level, and relaxed once she realized it was Balfour's study. Gemma's agent on the inside had given them the map of the house, and it was a relief to find it accurate.
"Hurry," she whispered as Charlie slipped in behind her. "We'll have ten minutes at the outside before they report us both missing. The fireworks might keep them busy, but they'll check in."
Charlie had given Byrnes the signal. Gemma was going to cause a distraction in the ballroom.
Lighting the candle on the desk, she began searching for Balfour's seal. The top drawer on the desk was locked, but she removed the small lock pick she'd hidden in her hair and jimmied the lock in less than ten seconds. Success. There was another small locked box inside, and the seal was within.
Charlie ran swift fingers over the folders on the desk. "A shame neither of us can read Russian. There might be something we can use here."
Lark heated the red wax and started dripping it onto a piece of blank paper. "He might have written something in English," she replied, but when she took a glance, Charlie was correct. They were all written in Cyrillic, and whilst her grasp on the written language was admittedly basic considering how young she’d been when she fled Russia, she could make out the gist of it. "Which one do you think would suit Gemma's purposes better?"
Boring estate statements and letters from correspondents in Saint Petersburg. Invitations to social events. For a man of Balfour's cunning, she hadn't expected to find anything incriminating lying about, but it was important to check.
"This one," she murmured, finding a piece of private correspondence written to what appeared to be one of Balfour's Russian bankers.
Lark pressed the seal into the wax to make an impression. "He'll be keeping anything important in a safe, if at all."
Charlie scanned the room, and then slipped a small listening device under the desk. The small brass aural device used Hertzian waves to send a wireless transmission to the communication device in Ava and Kincaid’s room, which could replicate people’s voices if conditions were optimum. "Be quick. Once we've got this tuned, Ava will be able to listen in after she finds the right frequency."
Voices echoed down the hall.
She and Charlie looked at each other.
Someone was coming.
Shit.
She tucked the seal and wax away and relocked the top drawer. Blowing out the candle, she bli
nked as they were both plunged into an abrupt darkness. The taper still glowed gold, so she spat on her fingers and obliterated it. The smell of smoke couldn't be helped.
Hiding a six-foot-three giant in a small room was going to be near impossible. Lark spun around as her vision began to come back. Desk, bookshelves, chairs, curtained alcove....
"In there!" she hissed, practically shoving him behind the curtains and half-drawing them. If she closed them completely, someone might open them, so she let just enough moonlight spill through so it didn't look suspicious.
Tugging open cabinets, she found one that was mostly empty and almost large enough to fit her. Lark crawled inside and dragged the door shut behind her, the sprawl of her silk gown bunching up around her face.
Just in time. The study door opened and footsteps grew louder as two people entered. A crack of light gleamed under the door of the cabinet.
"Well, they've taken the bait," a woman purred as the door clicked shut.
"Surprisingly." It sounded like Balfour. "I wonder what sort of hold Malloryn has on them to bring them all the way to the Crimson Court?"
It's called loyalty. She'd recognized it in Charlie's face.
"Perhaps they want revenge? Obsidian certainly does."
"Hmm." A chair creaked as someone, presumably Balfour, sat in it. "I think Obsidian wants more than that. I wonder.... Just how much of his memory has he managed to recover? Without Dr. Richter and his frequent conditioning sessions, the memory blocks might be fading."
"What does it matter? His brain's been manipulated so many times it's a wonder it hasn't started dripping out of his ears yet."
"It matters a great deal. He's the only thing that can disrupt my plans in regards to the tsarina naming her new heir at the end of her celebrations."
There came a brief pause. "Why don't you just kill him?"
"Because he hasn't yet outlived his purposes. And perhaps I can work this sudden reappearance to my advantage. Sergey's beginning to strain at his yoke. He might need a reminder he's not the only Grigoriev out there in the world."
Lark froze. Sound drained out of the room, as her ears started ringing.
Sergey? Sergey Grigoriev?
"... not the only Grigoriev out there in the world..."
