Page 57 of To Catch A Rogue
Luther bent over the map and gestured to the eastern end of the palace. "Here and here. The ballroom's intact, I believe. The library and study, and the eastern wing."
"If Malloryn is there then they'll have set guards. Lark, what do you think?" There was no answer. He looked up. "Lark?"
She stared at the map with a strange expression on her face, her cheeks pale. "It seems a reasonable connection. And yes, they should have someone on watch. You don't abandon your prize jewel where anyone can take it."
The scene in the hallway must have bothered her more than he'd expected.
Charlie hesitated. "We'll take a look at it tonight, Gem. Unless you have need of us?"
"No." Gemma waved him away. "This is more important. Take Herbert and Blade. I don't want the pair of you going alone. Not after last night."
"You're just trying to get out of the ballet," Byrnes muttered. "I hate you."
"Well, I'm looking forward to it," Ingrid said archly. "I've never seen the ballet."
"I hate you both."
"You're far more cultured and sophisticated than I am," Charlie replied. "Aren't you the son of a viscount? These sort of events ought to be in your blood."
"Who the hell told you that?" Byrnes growled.
"Your brother, Viscount Debney, must have mentioned it to Jack." Charlie winked. Jack was the only Rogue who'd stayed behind in London, his lungs too ravaged to make the trip. "Don't worry. We haven't decided whether or not we should bow whenever we see you."
"Yet," Gemma added.
"Remind me why I'm here?" Byrnes demanded. "Why on earth do I put up with you lot?"
"Because you adore us," Ingrid cooed, clucking him under the chin. "And because you'd have never met me if you hadn't joined the Company of Rogues."
"That does balance the scales a bit." Byrnes made a vast show of patting his pockets before turning on Lark. "What? You've left all my valuableswithme?"
Lark's smile was swift and fleeting. "It was fun, Byrnes, but not much challenge. Besides, I'm starting to feel sorry for you. I wouldn't want you to cry aristocratic tears into your pillow at night."
"I am illegitimate. Not a fucking aristocrat." Byrnes shook his head. "You two are made for each other."
Charlie caught the brief flicker of her gaze toward him.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken about Charlie and me," she replied coolly.
"We're friends," he said with a sigh. "Just friends."
* * *
The past refusedto stay dead.
Lark stayed mostly quiet as the trio of men discussed the night's plans. They crossed Nikolayevsky Bridge to Vasilyevsky Island, and swiftly made their way toward the palace ruins. Blade carried a shovel over his shoulder, while Herbert strained under the weight of the chest on his shoulder. All four of them were dressed as general laborers, just in case someone noticed anything amiss, and Blade and Herbert wore painstakingly glued beards on their faces.
Every step felt familiar.
If she blinked, she was certain she'd be able to see a gaggle of children running along at their mother's heels, begging for flavored ices.
The palace of her memories was drenched in sunlight. Its walls were painted a cheery yellow, and it looked out over the Neva river with stately grace.
Or it had.
Lark swallowed as she caught a glimpse of the shadowed ruins of what was left of the palace. The last time she'd seen it, she'd been trying to flee theChernyye Volkiwho'd murdered her mother and siblings. The Black Wolves had been a form of militia controlled by Sergey. Only her innate knowledge of the surrounding streets had saved her life.
"Well, 'ere we are," Blade said, giving her hand a quick squeeze as he edged past. He surveyed the enormous stone walls in front of them. "An abandoned palace, talk of ghosts and all that rot, and a possible sightin' of our precious duke. Anyone else wonderin' if this is another trap?"
