Page 78 of To Catch A Rogue

Lark had beautiful skin the color of molten honey, but right now there was an ashen tint to it.

"I told Lark there's a possibility you might be Dmitri Grigoriev," Charlie said.

It wasn't a secret, but the young man was entirely too eager to share personal details.

"Balfour likes to play games. He knows what these mean. I don’t. Which means he wants to twist me in knots. Are you satisfied?" Obsidian asked her, feeling the same stirring of suspicion that had gracedhervoice.

Lark nodded, her thick lashes shuttering her hazel eyes. "Satisfied. Now if you'll excuse me.... I'm not feeling very well. May I use the water closet?"

"Our suite is through there," Ingrid said, gesturing to one of the connecting doors.

"Thank you."Lark waved Charlie off as she started toward the door.

Gemma arched a brow at Obsidian, no doubt sensing what he'd been sensing.What was all that about?

Hell if I know. He stared after Lark as the door closed. But suspicion burned within him.

Gemma had worried Lark was keeping secrets.

Now he was certain of it.

Because she'd known exactly what those tattoos represented.

Chapter 15

Breathing hard, Lark leaned over the basin of water and splashed her face with it. Her hands shook so badly she could barely control them enough to wipe the water from her face.

All she could see were those tattoos.

The Firebird. The cross. The thorns. There ought to be a sun there too, but she couldn't remember if she'd seen a hint of its golden rays beneath his shirt. The second he rolled his sleeve up, the world had started sucking at her, until all she could see was those tattoos.

If hewasDmitri Grigoriev, themarque du sangshould have been on his back. But he would have shown it if it was, wouldn't he? Why would a man have the individual elements of the Grigoriev family crest tattooed on his arms?

Especially a man who’d had dealings with Balfour—Sergey's ally—in the past.

What were the odds? What did it mean?

A swift rap came at her door.

Lark's heart nearly burst out of her chest. She couldn't let anyone see her like this. Grabbing a towel, she wiped her face and pinched her cheeks, but the world was still spinning around her.

A second knock came.

"Who is it?" she called.

"I wanted to see how you were feeling."

Him.

The heat rushed out of her face. No. No, this wasn't happening.

Lark cracked the door open an inch. "What do you want?"

Obsidian leaned one hand against the doorframe, practically dwarfing her. He was taller than Charlie, and from the little she'd seen when he removed his shirt, cut lean with muscle. The other Rogues looked dangerous, but this one looked like a survivor, from the ice-cold eyes that gave nothing away when he looked at a person, to the faint scar above his lip.

"May I come in?" he asked, a hint of silky menace in his voice.

It wasn't a question.