Page 165 of To Catch A Rogue
Byrnes winked. "Who said I didn't win?"
Charlie shook his head. He didn't even want to know what they'd started betting on.
The wind rifled through his hair as Charlie made his way across the deck of the airship to where Lark watched from the bow. Her hair was gathered into a tight chignon, but strands of it kept escaping.
She looked happy, and his heart squeezed in his chest to know he was partly the reason for it.
"Hello, you," he mused, resting both of his hands on the rail on either side of her hips. She was wearing those bloody leather trousers again; the ones that caressed every inch of her ass.
"Hello," she replied with a smile, tilting her face up for a gentle kiss.
It had been too long since he'd tasted her mouth.
All the fear and tension had twisted him into knots. Watching her cousin drive that sword down at her, and knowing there was nothing he could do, had been more than he could bear. Charlie captured her face between his hands and slanted his mouth over hers, his tongue tracing the curve of her lips. Gods, she was sweet. Her tongue touched his, a hesitant little touché, and then he was sinking into her, pressing her against the rail and sliding his hands down her back. Gripping her ass, he squeezed.
"Charlie!" She sounded scandalized as she turned her face to the side and gasped. "Someone might see."
"Let them."
He claimed her mouth again, and this time she gave as good as she got. Hungry and indecent, and definitely something that needed to be moved elsewhere. Somewhere where he could get rid of all these blasted clothes between them.
It was a long time before either of them came up for air, and someone—probably Byrnes or Kincaid—was clapping loudly.
But first.
"I have something for you." He reached inside the pocket of his waistcoat.
"A present?" Lark arched a brow. "How on earth did you find time to get me a present?"
"It's not from me."
He pressed the locket Nikolai had given him into her hand, and Lark flicked it open.
She gasped and looked up questioningly. "Who is this?"
"According to Nikolai, it's his maternal grandfather. He said he was sorry he couldn't be what you wanted him to be, but he hoped this might make up for it."
Lark looked down again, rubbing her thumb across the tiny portrait. "My goodness." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They're almost identical. If Obsidian grew a beard—"
"You could suggest it," he said, leaning on his elbows on the rail beside her. "I'm sure Gemma would love that."
Lark fell silent, and her lower lip trembled a little. Charlie tucked his arms around her and hauled her in for a hug.
"He’s my brother," she whispered. "My eldest brother."
"Why don't you go and find him?"
"Do you think—"
"Yes. I think he would be very pleased to see this."
She stared down at the locket. "I don't know why Nikolai gave this to me."
"Because he knows he cannot be what you want him to be," Charlie said softly, knowing how much she'd wanted Nikolai to be more. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't love you."
Her jaw trembled. "I'll never see him again."
"Never say never. It's only six days from London by dirigible. Give him time to accept all of this, and I'm sure he'll be more welcoming next time."
