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

by Bec McMaster

"Surely not Dmitri."

  "He was lured into the Narodnik movement by his friends," Nikolai told her. "They wanted to overthrow the government, and there were rumors of a plot against the tsarina. If Nikolai Grigoriev lived, then perhaps he saw their faces when they turned the carriage over and dragged his father from it. Perhaps he saw Dmitri vanish in the crowd, never to be seen again. Perhaps there is a reason he limps."

  "Dmitri was nearly fifteen," she retorted. "And he.... They say he was a quiet, studious sort despite his athleticism. He excelled at—"

  "Everything?" Nikolai's twisted smirk wasn't pretty. "Yes. He was frightfully clever. Clever enough to remove those who might have thwarted his plans."

  "What plans? If Dmitri was involved in the carriage ambush, then you should know he wasn't involved in the murder of his younger siblings, nor the palace fire."

  "Oh? Then who was?"

  Lark glanced toward Sergey. "I don't think you'd like my answer. But perhaps you should think of who benefited the most from the deaths of the Grigorievs. Because if Dmitri was involved then he would have been the new Prince of Tsaritsyn. And yet, another stepped into that role and Dmitri vanished."

  The music started drawing to an end. They slowed, rocking to a halt.

  "That's a dangerous accusation," Nikolai said. "The Prince of Tsaritsyn has been nothing but loyal to his family."

  "If he was loyal, then why has he not seen his cousin raised in his place? Sergey was behind Nikolai in the line of succession. It seems odd to see him raised above him. If, indeed, Nikolai survived."

  "Perhaps his cousin wanted to vanish. Perhaps he wanted nothing to do with this world."

  Lark drew away from him, but he held on to her fingertips.

  "And if his sister survived? What then?" Nikolai murmured, searching her eyes. "Which one would she be? Yekaterina? Or Irina?"

  God, Tin Man would be turning over in his grave right now.

  But what if this man was her brother?

  She was almost entirely convinced.

  "Which one would you think?"

  He considered her for a long moment, especially her dark hair. "Irina. She would be Irina. She always had too smart a tongue for her mouth. Come. Walk with me."

  He gestured toward the terrace outside.

  Dark gardens. A dozen places for an ambush.

  Her eyes lit upon Charlie, glaring at her from behind a nearby column. His fingers danced when he saw he'd caught her attention. "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Unfortunately, I seem to have a prior engagement," she murmured. "But it was lovely to talk to you."

  "Who is he?" Nikolai demanded.

  "Have you not discovered that yet?"

  "'Charlie Todd' means nothing to me." The way he said it sent a chill down her spine.

  "Well, Charlie Todd means everything to me," she whispered, face-to-face with him. "And if anything were to happen to him I would destroy whoever harmed him. I would burn his world down around him so that the fires of his tragic past would seem a fond memory."

  Nikolai smiled, just faintly. "You should never reveal your hand, little bird. Only those with nothing to lose are safe in this world."

  "Strange. I thought those with everything to lose were far more dangerous. A man with nothing to lose has nothing to fight for."

  She saluted him with a tip of the chin before she turned and slipped through the crowd, her heart pounding against the crush of her corset.

  The sight of Lark in another man's arms felt like swallowing a bunch of nails.

  Charlie forced himself to watch her dance, grinding his teeth to keep his emotions from escaping. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

  The stranger had been there at Grigoriev Palace that night. He'd barely caught a glimpse of the bastard, but something about the way he moved made his identity clear.

  When Charlie burst in, the pair of them had been staring at each other like two cats suddenly merging on each other's territory, and there'd been a knife at Lark's throat.

  But the way they glared at each other as they danced made the hairs down his neck rise.

  Pushing away from the stranger, she moved through the crowd like an automaton, her face shocked and pale. Far too pale. Charlie started to hurry after her. Something was wrong.

  Lark caught his eye and slipped from the ball.

  Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, he followed her, only to be ambushed halfway down the hallway.

  "What were—?"

  She pressed three fingers over his mouth and dragged him into a small sitting room before closing the door behind them.

  He could still hear the strains of a waltz in the distance, yet there was a muted sensation to it, as if they were the only two people in the world right now. The pulse of it throbbed in time to his heartbeat.

  "Care to explain?"

  "Don't be jealous."

  "I'm not jealous," he growled. She belonged to him. She had to. What had happened between them today had to mean something. "But the pair of you seemed absorbed in each other. I cannot help feeling as though you know him."

  Lark's hands slid up his chest. "You don't understand."

  "Then enlighten me."

  Her mouth sought his in the dark, hungry and desperate. She wrapped her arms around his neck, wilting against him. Silk slithered against his thighs, and somehow his hands were traveling down her narrow spine and cupping her by the ass. He hauled her against him, grinding his burgeoning erection into her.

  As sweet and tempting as her mouth was, it wasn't enough.

  Charlie drew back, gasping for breath.

  "Who is he?"

  Lark's shoulders stiffened. "He.... I...."

  Charlie reared back. "You cannot tell me?"

  "No! It's not like that!" She came after him, all swishing silk as she shoved her mask onto her forehead. "I've never told a soul what I've told you in the past twenty-four hours. I trust you implicitly, you know that. But this is.... It's new to me." Gloved fingers slid through his. "Please, just give me a chance to collect my thoughts."

  Charlie forced himself to still, his fingers beating a ragged rhythm on his thigh.

  "I'm almost certain he's my brother," she whispered.

  He's... "What?"

  Lark hurriedly explained.

  "Then why the hell is he working for Sergey?"

  Lark shot him a pinched-lip look. "I don't know. Nikolai wasn't.... He wasn't there at the palace that night. He was attacked in the carriage on the way home from the opera with my father and Dmitri. He claims Dmitri arranged it all, but Dima would never have betrayed his family. All these years, I never knew what truly happened to them. I knew they 'died.' I thought Sergey must have found them and killed him too. But what if...?"

  What if he hadn't? Charlie's gut twisted. "Would your brother have suspected Sergey had a hand in your parents’ deaths?"

  She shook her head. "No. He was family. He was our cousin. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

  "And Sergey became prince in the wake of their 'deaths.' It seems awfully convenient to lay the blame upon Dmitri."

  "That thought did occur to me."

  "And now Nikolai knows who you are."

  Lark's mouth parted, but no words came out.

  Charlie held up a hand. "No. I understand why you said what you said. You were in shock. You'd never expected to see him again. But...."

  "But?" she whispered.

  "Now we have an awfully big fucking problem. We need to tell Gemma."

  "No!"

  "Why not?" He captured her hands. "I trust them with my life. She would never hurt you or betray you. And Obsidian.... What if he is Dmitri Grigoriev? That would make him your brother too."

  "What if he's not? He has no memories, Charlie! He has no marque du sang. All he has is the Grigoriev family tree quite conveniently placed in the file Lord Balfour had on him and a few tattoos on his arm. We already know Balfour's not above manipulating the truth."


  "And if he kills Sergey, then Balfour's told him he will give him the proof he's looking for."

  "I heard what Balfour said too, Charlie. 'I will give you proof of your birth family and where you came from.' He didn't say he was a Grigoriev." She turned and paced three steps, one hand to her temples. "I don't know what to do. If that man is my brother, then part of him didn't survive. I don't know if I trust him. Nikolai's dangerous." She breathed out a laugh. "He's the leader of the Chernyye Volki, for goodness sake. And they were responsible for killing my mother and siblings right in front of me." Her shoulders slumped. "I don't know if I can trust him."

  "Hey." Charlie's hands closed over her shoulders. "You're not alone."

  Lark reached up to cup her hand over his.

  "I know. Why are you being so nice to me?" she whispered. "I've been lying to you, pushing you away, keeping secrets."

  Charlie rested his hand over hers. "You're not the only one who knows what it feels like to wake in the middle of the night and have your entire life upended."

  She looked up as if she'd forgotten.

  His father, Sir Artemus Todd, had roused the ire of a powerful duke in London when Charlie was barely fourteen. Charlie had been woken in the middle of the night by his sister, Honoria, and torn from his nice, warm bed. She'd stuffed both him and Lena in a carriage and made the three of them vanish into the streets of Whitechapel before the duke could find them.

  He'd never seen his father again.

  "I know what it's like to be afraid," Charlie murmured. "I know what it's like to spend every day looking over your shoulder, wondering if that man's watching you too closely. If the duke is still looking for you. You miss everything you once took for granted. We had to leave everything behind. My mother's photograph; the bear she'd given me when I was a child; my toy trains; my books; everything. Life is never the same again."

  Lark slid her hands around his waist and he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. "What would I do without you, Charlie?"

  He glanced down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Hopefully, we never need to find out. Promise me you'll think about telling the others."

  "You won't do it for me?"

  "It's your choice," he pointed out. "I would never take that from you."

  Lark bit her lip.

  "But you need to think about the possibility that Nikolai is in this mess up to his eyeballs. He's Sergey's little lapdog, and Sergey belongs to Balfour. If Balfour discovers there's a Grigoriev princess floating around...."

  The color drained from her face.

  "I just don't want to see you hurt," he murmured, "or used as a weapon."

  "I'll tell them," she whispered, "but not for my own sake. For yours. He knows you're important to me and he warned me that you were my weakness. I can't let him hurt you."

  Chapter 18

  It was after midnight that Sergey announced a surprise.

  In honor of the tsarina, he'd arranged for fireworks at his palace several miles away—and all the guests were invited. The carriages had already been prepared to take them the short distance. They'd return of course, Sergey assured Balfour, but there was music provided for those who wished to stay.

  The look on Balfour's face had been almost worth it as his night was usurped.

  "Think you can take the second carriage?" Charlie said, putting a hand directly to Kincaid's chest.

  The burly mech paused. "Any reason?"

  "I want to talk with Gemma and Obsidian."

  Kincaid arched a brow, and then seemed to think better of saying anything. He held up his hands and stalked off.

  "Subtle," Lark muttered as he helped her into the carriage where Gemma and Obsidian already waited.

  "It was your decision."

  Yes, but I thought I'd have more time. He could see it in her eyes.

  Lark settled beside him on the carriage seat, her fur wrap draped around her shoulders. She stared steadfastly out the window as the door shut and the driver snapped his reins on the horses' backs, as if wishing herself as far away from this moment as possible.

  They made innocuous conversation for several miles. Sergey's new palace was on the very outskirts of the city.

  "How did the letter drop go?" Gemma asked, once they had a little bit of distance under their belt.

  "I mixed it in with Tatiana's other letters, so it looks like an honest mistake."

  "Excellent. Why do you look so grim then?"

  His brows knotted in the middle. "I don't look grim."

  "Does he look grim?" she asked her lover.

  "As grim as a sugarplum can," Obsidian replied, without a single hint of a smile.

  "Oh, ha. Good to see you're getting a sense of humor as your memories return. Before we know it you'll think you're as funny as Byrnes."

  "Nobody thinks they're as funny as Byrnes. What's the problem?"

  "There's something we need to discuss with you," Charlie said, taking Lark's hand. She'd been staying very still during the interplay, as if she wished to crawl beneath the seats and vanish. "Something that might be a bit of a problem."

  Gemma's expression sharpened. "Yes?"

  "We have reason to believe Nikolai Grigoriev survived the Grigoriev family massacre," he said, then swiftly filled the pair of them in on what Lark had learned that night, leaving out certain details.

  Gemma, however, was no fool. "Why would he reveal such important information to you?"

  Lark drew a deep breath.

  You can do it. He squeezed her hand.

  "Because I am also—"

  An explosion suddenly rocked the carriage, throwing him into her. Charlie flung his arms around her as the carriage careened onto one side and slowly began to tip.

  Glass shattered as they hit the ground. His forehead slammed into the carriage roof, leaving him blinking as the world swayed. Something sharp drove into his ribs. Maybe an elbow. And then Gemma was tumbling into him in a froth of skirts.

  It took him long seconds to realize the world had stopped shaking.

  Charlie pushed up onto his hands and knees. "Everyone alive? Lark?"

  "Here," she grumbled, pushing at his chest.

  It had been her elbow.

  He grabbed her chin, tilting her face to the side to check for any signs of blood.

  "What the hell just happened?" Gemma cocked her pistol.

  Outside, there came the sound of startled yelling and a woman's scream.

  "Stay here!" Gemma grabbed the carriage strap—now hanging from the roof—and kicked up, dislodging the door in their current ceiling. Then she was swinging through it, despite the hampering crush of her skirts. If he knew Gemma, she'd probably strapped half an arsenal to her thighs.

  Obsidian vaulted through the door too, leaving him to tend to Lark.

  "You're bleeding," Charlie whispered, turning her chin this way and that.

  "Just a scratch," she said, struggling to sit up. "This is why I don't like skirts. How the hell did Gemma just do that in a bloody corset?"

  If she was complaining about her wardrobe, then she had to be all right.

  Pistol fire echoed in the night.

  "What's going on?"

  Charlie stood, and stepping up onto the plush carriage seat, he peered through the door. Fire blazed in the night, revealing the second carriage that had been carrying Byrnes, Ingrid, Kincaid and Ava. The entire undercarriage was ablaze, and he could see people swarming out of the shadowed streets, clad in dark cloaks and wearing some sort of mask.

  They were on the outskirts of Saint Petersburg, and he was fairly certain someone had just used an explosive device on the second carriage. The impact had thrown them askew.

  "We're being ambushed. Stay here." Charlie heaved himself up through the door and perched on the new roof of the carriage.

  "Like hell." Lark followed him, and he bent to haul her through the open door.

  Mayhem ruled.

  Several muzzles flashed fire to his left, and Gemma r
eturned it, aiming coolly around the side of the carriage. He could see Byrnes and Ingrid fighting back to back, and Kincaid dropped a masked figure with a massive punch.

  "This way," he said, dropping Lark off the edge of the carriage.

  He followed, using his body to shield her. A knife glinted in her hand, her brass knuckles gleaming over her fingers.

  A man came hurtling out of nowhere, clutching a sword. A second later, Charlie's cutthroat razors were in hand, and he was ducking beneath the man's swing and gutting him. A quick flick of the wrist and the razor in his right hand dashed across the man's throat.

  Then there was a blur coming from his right. He had no time to deal with the first attacker, though he could hear Lark grunting as a body slammed against another body.

  By the time he put the second man down—this one was definitely only human—she was wiping her dagger on the first's cloak. "Blue blood," she said, by way of explanation, and the spreading crimson tide in the center of the man's chest revealed she'd stabbed him in the heart. "What did Blade tell you?"

  "Don't leave injured enemies at your back. Sorry. I was a little busy."

  "Good thing you've got me."

  Lark knelt and tugged the silver engraved mask off the man's face. It looked like some sort of ravening creature. "He's a Black Wolf."

  He saw the impact of it slide over her.

  "Nikolai's men."

  "Yes." There was no emotion in her voice. Just a cold sort of determination. "I made a mistake. He's Sergey's creature through and through."

  Was it a mistake to yearn for a family's love when you'd thought you'd lost it?

  "I would have made the same mistake if I were you," he said, then turned and looked at the bloodied streets.

  A horse bolted toward them, a man carrying a struggling bundle in his arms. Shit. Ava. He recognized her green skirts and frightened face, and made a grab for the reins. Sparks sprayed off the horse's hooves as it shied away from him, and its shoulder slammed directly into his.

  Charlie hit the cobblestones, the breath smashing out of him.

  No time to catch his breath.

  The clatter of another horse made him roll as Kincaid galloped toward him in pursuit of Ava. It leaped over the top of him, the broad expanse of its gray belly flashing past.