Page 91 of To Catch A Rogue

"And?"

They both glanced at the party of gentlemen ahead of them. Sergey Grigoriev hadn't yet arrived—a direct snub to Balfour and his wife—but rumor had it he intended to make an appearance that night.

"You leave me with little option. I want to know who I am. And I know you, Balfour. If I don't do as you ask, you'll back me into a corner."

"Dido's going to be ever so disappointed." Balfour's lips quirked as he turned and brushed lint off Obsidian's shoulder. "She was hoping she'd get to shed some blood—"

Obsidian captured his wrist. "Don't touch me."

Balfour's dark eyes gleamed as he withdrew his hand. "As you wish. Just make sure it looks like an accident. I don't want this leading back to me, and I don't want anyone crying 'murder.'"

He walked away, seemingly careless of the fact he had an assassin at his back.

Obsidian straightened his collar, touching the small communicator there. "Did you get all that?"

"Yes," Gemma replied.

"Make sure nobody goes anywhere alone. Dido won't take this well. She wants to kill one of us, and I'm not certain how tight the leash she wears is."

"Maybe I can choke her with it," Gemma murmured.

Chapter 17

Another ball.

Another opportunity to meddle in Balfour's affairs. It wouldn't gain them Malloryn's whereabouts, but it might take his attention off them for the moment. They wanted him watching this hand, and not the other....

Herbert and Blade were currently traversing the city street by street, trying to track Malloryn's location implant. Every Rogue had one of the tiny implants located in the base of their hairline, and the tracking device would ping if they got within a mile of it. If his kidnappers hadn't noticed it, that was.

Byrnes and Ingrid were off leading their wet nurses—as Byrnes put it—on a merry chase. They'd started mapping the radius of the search area from which they could presumably still see smoke from Balfour's palace.

And Charlie was currently slipping into Tatiana's study to plant Gemma's incriminating letter.

Until they had an idea of where Malloryn was, Balfour was their best lead, though Lark wished she could have gone with him.

"Sometimes I want to wipe that smirk off his face," Gemma muttered at Lark's side, half her pretty face hidden by a mask made of raven feathers and gold lace.

Balfour had decreed it a masquerade ball, almost as if hewantedthem to take advantage of the confusion.

He smiled down at the three of them from where he stood at the balcony. Balfour ignored Gemma and Lark to a large degree as they accepted champagne from a footman. All his attention was locked upon Obsidian, as if he couldn't wait to discover whether the former assassin had taken his bait.

"And here is our ignorant target," Gemma mused into her champagne. "Finally."

Sergey Grigoriev appeared at the top of the stairs, clad in a strict black military coat with a golden tassel on one shoulder and medallions pinned to his chest. There it was again, the cold, dark spiraling pit threatening to suck her under. Lark had prepared herself for this moment as best she could, but in an instant she could hear her mother screaming again, begging for the life of her children.

He'd never served a day in his life, but he held himself as proudly as if he'd singlehandedly fought off a hundred enemy soldiers. Tall and bearded, he surveyed the ballroom through a gold metallic mask. Apparently he'd snubbed Balfour's earlier events, hosting a party of his own. Tension existed between the two former allies.

Nothing about him had changed. Perhaps his beard was a touch thicker, his body a little more heavy-set, but she couldn't help seeing her memories of him superimposed over the reality.

Only this time, there was no blood on his hands.

Gemma's voice pulled her out of the fugue. "Pompous, arrogant prat, isn't he? I think I might introduce myself. I'm going to enjoy pulling the wool over his eyes."

I'm going to enjoy cutting his heart out of his chest.

Lark's fingers brushed against the knives strapped to her thighs, and she forced herself to swallow the sudden choking rage. Later.

Maybe.