Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

by Anna Randol

  And she was dressed in a borrowed yellow dress that gaped in the same manner as her stays.

  The officer bowed smartly, then passed them off to a set of palace guards, these dressed in scarlet with black caps topped with ostrich feathers.

  “Your cloak, miss,” a soldier ordered.

  She hugged it more tightly around her. “I’m a trifle chilled. Perhaps—”

  Clayton leaned close. “It is considered a great insult to keep your coat. It implies you do not think your host keeps his house warm enough.”

  Lovely. She’d been in the palace for less than a minute and she’d already managed to insult one of the most powerful monarchs in Europe. She gave up her cloak.

  They passed through a series of apartments. Paintings by Rembrandt and Caravaggio hung on the walls as if they were nothing more than a child’s watercolors.

  Determined not to gawk, Olivia kept her eyes downward as she walked. But the floors themselves were intricate patterns of inlaid woods. Some rooms possessed complex geometric patterns and others intricate florals made out of wood of a dozen different shades.

  As they passed into a large salon, the Cossack guards who’d been lounging there in their short jackets, loose trousers, and quilted vests rose to their feet and lined up shoulder to shoulder.

  One soldier’s mouth formed a smirk as he surveyed her dress from the corner of his eye.

  But she put back her shoulders and met his eye until he was the first to look away. She might be embarrassed about her dress, but she wasn’t going to let anyone imply that she should be.

  Every room they passed through after that contained soldiers who presented arms and stood at attention. They passed a dozen types of soldiers. Chevalier guards. Dragoons. Clayton murmured to her who they were, but she couldn’t remember half of them.

  Finally, they stopped in a hall so immense the entire mill and half the town would have fit inside.

  After a few minutes, a large group filed in. Turbaned men in flowing caftans. Elegant men in perfectly cut jackets and ostentatious waistcoats. Men with medals and ribbons obscuring their chests.

  “The diplomatic corps,” Clayton whispered.

  Complete silence reigned for several moments. Dozens of eyes pinned her.

  Her father never had any desire to rise in the social ranks, but he’d had big plans for her. Not because he wanted her to be happy, but because he thought it would bring more investors. Yet in all the etiquette lessons Olivia had been forced to endure, she’d never learned what to do when meeting a Russian emperor.

  The doors on the far end of the room opened, and a cluster of men entered. Everyone in the hall sank into a bow and Olivia followed, praying her legs would remember how to curtsy.

  “Alexander, Emperor of Russia, King of Poland, and Grand Duke of Finland and Lithuania,” a deep, echoing voice announced.

  She stayed bent low, head bowed, legs wobbling, until Clayton straightened next to her. In front of them stood a slightly balding man of middle height and middle age. He held out his ring to Clayton, who kissed the air above it. A matching moue of distaste curled both men’s mouths.

  “Baron Komarov. I shall speak in English for your betrothed’s benefit.”

  Olivia understood two things in that moment, Emperor Alexander knew Clayton was English, and he hadn’t fallen for the betrothal.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you in St. Petersburg so soon,” the emperor continued. The guards surrounding him suddenly loomed ominously.

  “The same thing keeps drawing me back.” Clayton’s voice was perfectly polite in tone and nuance, yet his words sounded somehow disdainful.

  The emperor’s gaze sharpened, then he turned to his guards. “I wish to reminisce about old times with the baron. Alone.” In less than a minute, the room had cleared of everyone save her and Clayton, Alexander, and three of his aides. “I thought by gifting you with the estate in northern Siberia I was making it clear I did not want you to remain in Russia. What is it you have to say?”

  “Prazhdinyeh plans to kill you.”

  The emperor’s appearance hadn’t improved in the past year. He now had less hair and more lines of strain around his eyes. “Again? We thought they were destroyed.”

  “They’re gathering again. They’re taking funding from Count Arshun.”

  The emperor glanced over at the thin, cadaverous man to his right, the minister of police, Maxim Igorvitch Golov, before nodding. “We have had our suspicions about him for a time.”

  “They plan to attack during the grand duchess’s birthday fete while the entire imperial family is gathered.”

  Golov chuckled, the sound harsh and condescending. “If the police do not know of the plot, then it does not exist.” Not much escaped the man’s notice, but he didn’t always share what he knew with his emperor. Criminals disappeared before trials. Informants were tortured.

  “You are fallible as always, Golov.”

  The other man’s nose twitched like a rat. “How will they attack then?”

  “That isn’t entirely clear.”

  “How many people are involved?”

  Clayton spoke through gritted teeth. “We aren’t clear on that, either.”

  Golov’s nearly colorless lips lifted into a smirk. “Who do they plan to attack? There will be close to fifty members of the family. Just the emperor? His brothers? His cousins?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then what do you know?”

  “Vasin planted a killer in your ranks before his death.”

  “Who is this supposed agent?”

  “I don’t know.” He could feel Olivia tense next to him. She’d probably expected the emperor to be terrified of this threat and go into hiding. But Alexander simply stood back and watched the exchange with disinterest.

  “Why should the emperor listen to the words of an English spy?” Golov asked.

  “Because I’m the one who found out the information. Not him.” Olivia stepped closer to the emperor, addressing him directly, that earnest look she’d used with Kate back on her face. “You must not go to the fete.”

  “I mustn’t?” The emperor seemed bemused by her audacity.

  Clayton felt slightly better that the emperor seemed swayed by her sincerity as well.

  “The danger’s real. I spoke with Arshun. I heard what they were planning.”

  Golov stalked around the emperor until he stood inches from Olivia. “How did you come to be there? The emperor issued no passport for you to come to St. Petersburg, Miss Swift. Highly suspicious.”

  Clayton wasn’t ready to test whether Olivia would follow his advice about not mentioning Madeline. “Prazhdinyeh kidnapped her to lure me here.” He gave a brief, edited account of what had happened and the code they possessed.

  The emperor glared at Golov.

  Golov bowed his head as if contrite, but a vein pulsed along his temple.

  The emperor offered Olivia a pat on the shoulder. From a man as reserved as Alexander, even this small touch was shocking. “I am glad you are well now, Miss Swift. But why did they think the baron would come after you? I was assured the betrothal story I heard was a lie. Is it true?” He held up a hand when both Clayton and Golov would have interjected. “I wish to hear from Miss Swift.”

  “Clayton and I were sweethearts a long time ago. When he returned to England, he came to find me.”

  Clayton felt a momentary pang at the longing on her face, a small part of him wishing it had happened that way.

  The emperor’s face softened. “Why this concern on my behalf?”

  “I’ve done many things in my life that I must atone for. Once I found out about the threat to you and your family, I knew I must warn you. I didn’t want your deaths to be added to my transgressions.”

  La Petit herself couldn’t have chosen more perfect words. The emperor was fascinated with religion and the state of his soul.

  And it was close enough to the truth that she was able to speak convincingly. Golov’s e
yes narrowed but he didn’t question her aloud.

  Olivia clasped and unclasped her hands. “You must not attend the fete,” she repeated.

  Alexander sighed. “Do you know how many threats I face every week? This week alone I have been alerted to two separate conspiracies. Most amount to nothing but empty threats. The others are dealt with.”

  Clayton stiffened. As Madeline had been dealt with? They’d crushed her under pounds of rock, beaten her, starved her, made her bathe in the blood of prisoners they tortured in front of her. The emperor may have declared an end to cruel punishments at the beginning of his reign, but war with Napoleon had changed those ideals.

  The emperor rested his hand on Olivia’s cheek. “I will be more alert, but I will not rule in fear. That would give the revolutionaries the very control they seek.”

  “Your entire family will be at risk,” Olivia said.

  “We will increase the number of guards, but even I do not risk angering the dowager grand duchess without evidence.”

  Golov’s tongue flickered across his lips like a serpent. “We’ll need the code, of course. Then you may go.”

  “No.” Olivia’s voice was laced with enough steel that even the emperor raised an eyebrow. Clayton watched her warily. She used to be soft, like a kitten that needed protecting; this new Olivia was far more alluring than he’d ever thought possible. “If you won’t call off the fete, we will continue to work on it as well.”

  Golov’s vein bulged even more. “I hardly think—”

  But the emperor chuckled. “Splendid. It is rare I witness such honest dedication on my behalf.”

  Clayton studied Olivia with new respect. She’d always been determined, but when she was younger, that had manifested itself as stubbornness. He’d suspected she would be incredible if she learned how to use that resolve in the right circumstances.

  She was.

  But she underestimated the ire of the man standing across from her. Clayton knew just how dangerous that was. “I also need Golov’s word that no harm will come to Miss Swift or myself while we’re in St. Petersburg.”

  The emperor frowned. “Of course, you have it. You are under my protection while in this city.”

  Golov’s lips pinched. “Of course. No harm will come to you before the fete.”

  While the emperor turned his discussion with Olivia to the night’s ball, Golov leaned in close, his whispered words for Clayton alone. “Did I not take good care of your other female friend?”

  Olivia’s safety was the only reason he didn’t gut the foul man where he stood. “Not quite as well as I took care of General Chilenko.”

  Golov hesitated for less than an instant, then drew back. “Ah, that was you.”

  The emperor pointed to Clayton. “You will escort Miss Swift to my ball tonight. I will not have it said that I neglected the man who saved my life.” He smiled almost fondly. “Or his lovely betrothed.”

  Clayton bowed. “We’ll be there.”

  “And to ensure I do my utmost to protect the imperial family”—Golov paused, his eyes narrowed and gleaming—“tomorrow, I will work personally with you on the code.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You did well with the emperor.” Clayton finally spoke to her once they were alone in the sleigh. Bits of snow kicked up by the horses rattled against the boards under her feet.

  Then why was he scowling? “I’ve spent the last eight years trying to negotiate with politicians.” Had he not asked about her at all before storming into her mill and casting dire promises? “For the Society for the Humane Treatment of Child Criminals.” She found herself leaning forward in the seat, hoping to see some flicker of curiosity or admiration. “There have been real reforms. Women have been separated from the men in the prisons and we’ve also made progress on having the children separated.”

  He gave her nothing. “Why are you involved with them?”

  “You. What happened, or almost happened, to you was wrong.”

  He frowned slightly, but it was more considering than disbelieving. “And now that I’m alive?”

  “I’ll continue to work with them.” How could she not? She was relieved to find that now that the shock of Clayton being alive had worn off, her dedication to the society hadn’t waned. She might have started the society because of him, but her work there now was because she believed in their mission.

  He didn’t contradict her but his gaze searched her as if probing for some missing piece.

  There was no missing piece for him to find; she truly had changed. “The mill employs three boys who’d been convicted of theft in London. We hope to prove that children can be rehabilitated—”

  His face hardened, so she let the matter drop. She knew when a man would no longer listen to what she had to say. But the seed had been planted. One more thing that would make him hesitate to destroy the mill. That would have to be enough for the moment.

  She tried to steer the conversation to safer ground. “Have you ever been to an imperial ball?”

  “Yes.”

  She gave him a dry look. “Please, don’t wax poetic with details.”

  His brows drew together. “They are long and tedious.” He shrugged as if at a loss. “People dance.”

  It was such a male response that she couldn’t help it. She laughed. She tried to stop. She truly did. But it had been so long since she’d truly laughed that her body apparently decided to make up for all the missed moments.

  A part of her hoped Clayton might join her, but by the time she managed to regain control of herself, he hadn’t even smiled.

  But the lines of tension were gone from his brow and he’d relaxed against the seat. And was that a smug glint in his eye? She couldn’t tell. Had he intended her reaction?

  “I try to avoid imperial functions. The emperor and I are not precisely close.”

  That had been hard to miss. “I thought you saved his life.”

  Clayton’s jaw worked for a moment. He studied her as if deciding whether to trust her with the truth. “Our history isn’t as simple as that. Two years before I saved his life, Golov captured La Petit and the czar ordered her torture. It took us three days to free her.” Even though no emotion showed on his face, his left hand tightened into a fist.

  The warming bricks in the sleigh couldn’t prevent Olivia’s shiver. She’d spent the last few weeks imagining what torture might await her, but to actually endure it . . .

  “She was mine to protect, and I failed her. The things they did to her—” He turned to the frozen river outside the window. A few people had already begun to brave their way across on skates and sledges rather than walking to the bridges. But from the way his hand gripped the seat cushion, she knew that wasn’t what he was seeing.

  She placed her hand on his knee. He jerked away from the window, his brows clashing together. But his focus was on her, no longer on those memories. “Then why did you save him?”

  He shifted his leg, so her hand fell away. “More people than the czar would have been hurt.”

  He was just so . . . noble. He always had been. She tucked her hands into her muff to keep from reaching for him again. And despite what he claimed about who he’d become, he still was.

  “But why does that make him dislike you?”

  “He doesn’t like to be reminded of what he did to La Petit. And although he knew what I was, the saving of his life was so dramatic that he either had to reveal there was a spy in his ranks or pretend there wasn’t and reward me.”

  She blinked at him. “Then you are a baron?”

  “Indeed. I believe they raise camels at my estate in Siberia.”

  “Camels?”

  “Two-humped.” This time she was certain a touch of humor entered his eyes. “Very resistant to the cold.”

  “You’re jesting.” Her heart skipped a beat. He had been jesting. With her. And it was marvelous.

  “No. Three hundred and twelve at the last count.”

  “Is that where you earned you
r fortune?” She found herself hungry for the smallest scrap of information about him.

  His expression shuttered. “The serfs keep their own money. I don’t live off the ownership of other men.”

  Her stomach filled with lead. She wanted to take the question back. To ease the tension on his face.

  “Why do you want to know?” he asked.

  She shifted, wanted to escape back to his humor from moments before. “It was just a simple question.”

  “Was it? Or are you eager to ferret out information to help you protect your mill?”

  For once she hadn’t been. All she wanted was more of him. “Is it so difficult to believe that I just want to know about you?”

  “I’m not a man people want to become better acquainted with.” The words were filled with bitter pride.

  “What if I’m not like they are?” What if she wasn’t the villain he believed her to be?

  Her short strand of hope stretched thinner and thinner in the following silence until his words shattered it completely. His smile was as grim as a hangman’s. “Then you’re too late. There is nothing left worth knowing.”

  “Olivia!” Kate strolled down the corridor as they entered the house. “How did you fare? I feared Clayton would provoke the emperor into ordering your executions.”

  Olivia pinned a smile on her face. “It was a close thing.”

  Clayton folded his arms. “She will require a proper dress for this evening’s ball.”

  “More favors?”

  Clayton simply waited.

  Kate smoothed her vest with a flick. “Fine. I’ll see to it.”

  He nodded once. “I’ll return in time to escort you to the ball.”

  “Where are you going?” Olivia asked. “Surely, there are other things we must see to this afternoon.” Since the emperor hadn’t agreed to stop the fete, they had to break the code. He must realize this.