Page 23 of To Catch A Rogue
"You questioned my credentials," she replied. "It only seems fair I question yours."
"Prickly little thing, aren't you?" Byrnes laid his cards flat on the table. "Full house. And yes, my dear, I'm very good at what I do."
"The kind of man one can't get one over on very easily?"
Byrnes seemed insulted. "You can try."
I already have.
"Damn it." Charlie folded.
"I'm out too." Ingrid tossed her cards down with a disgusted expression. Lark had expected her and her husband to work as a team, but Ingrid had been trying to destroy Byrnes all night, and from his answering smile whenever she beat him, the feeling was mutual.
Lark considered her cards. "I think... I would like to raise."
Byrnes leaned forward. "How much?"
Lark pushed her entire pile of coin forward.
"Done." Byrnes gave her an evil smile. Then he patted his pockets. "Where the hell is my billfold?"
Lark sipped her blud-wein and held it up between two fingers.
Ingrid burst out laughing.
Byrnes's jaw dropped open. "When did you—?"
"Right about the same time I took this," she replied, putting his pocket watch on the table between them. "And this." Some odd little piece of silver she'd found in his pocket. "And this." His wedding ring.
Byrnes gaped at her, then looked down at his hand, where the indentation of his ring remained.
"But it's a good thing you're very good, Master Byrnes, and nobody can pull the wool over your eyes. I'd have been in trouble then."
"Those sublime reflexes," Charlie snickered.
"And superb senses," Ingrid said, still snorting with amusement. "Oh, I like her."
Byrnes's eyes narrowed as he glanced between her and Charlie.
And then he smiled.
"One hundred quid," he said, and as Ingrid laughed even harder, Charlie flushed and grew very interested in his cards.
Chapter 5
They arrived six days later, sailing through the crisp Russian skies. Saint Petersburg stretched beneath them in a sprawl of canals, ornate churches, statues, elegant palaces, and walled fortresses. Outside the city, the enormous war machines of the Russian Empire squatted like hulking metallic toads, primed to defend the city if need be.
Ice slicked the edges of the Neva; it wasn't quite the heart of winter and yet signs of it were beginning to creep over the city. Up here, the air was almost cold enough to take Lark's breath away as she leaned over the rail on the foredeck and watched her destiny approach.
Her greedy gaze took in everything below her. All her memories of this place were stained with blood. And yet, she couldn't help the conflicting sensation that she was finally coming home. There was something about the feel of the air and the thick accents of the crew that took her back into the past.
Lark closed her eyes, and suddenly she was hiding under the desk in her father’s library, trying not to giggle as he walked around the room saying loudly, "I wonder where my little Irinka has gone?" It was a frequent game between them, with her father opening drawers and lifting chairs and peering behind curtains until he would suddenly "find" her and tickle her until she was laughingly begging him to stop.
Gone. All gone.
She’d never felt so homesick in her life, but no matter how well she knew this country, she would never be able to go home again. It felt like a wound somewhere deep within her, barely scabbed over, was somehow reopened.
A cool body stepped between her and the wind, leaving her cocooned in the sudden void.
