Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

by Anna Randol

  Olivia watched him for his response, but when he gave none, she shifted away.

  He’d hurt her. The knowledge was a kick to the gut.

  But it would keep her safe. And somehow, that had become his only concern in this conversation.

  “Heavens, are you all still huddled in here?” Kate strode into the room. Golov was forced to rise.

  Kate continued brightly. “Lovely. I have company coming for tea. General Smirken and his young bride.”

  General Smirken was one of the few men in the government who held power similar to Golov’s. And he and Golov detested each other.

  Clayton hoped for Kate’s sake she truly had arranged for him to come, because Golov would surely verify her claim.

  Kate’s eyes widened. “Miss Swift! You look terribly peaked. Whatever are these men tormenting you with? You must rest. You look quite ill.”

  Clayton tucked the paper away. “We can continue tomorrow.”

  Golov frowned. “Tomorrow is unacceptable.”

  “Surely, you can figure out the meaning without me?”

  He’d backed Golov into a difficult spot. The minister of police wouldn’t admit to incompetence in front of both Olivia and Kate. He’d find some way to punish Clayton later, but for now, it was worth it to be free of him.

  “I apologize for distressing you, Miss Swift.” Golov bowed. He lifted his rheumy gaze to Clayton, one of his hands stroking the other. “But do not fear, you and I shall soon have time to discuss things. Privately.”

  Kate shuddered as soon as he left the room. “Sorry if he was useful, but my servants were refusing to come into the room.”

  Clayton nodded. “They probably dislike cleaning up all the maggots and decaying flesh he leaves behind.”

  Olivia and Kate both stared at him, their mouths parted in matching O’s. Olivia was the first to recover, clapping her hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. But her laughter slowly darkened to something far more serious.

  “How much more dangerous did I make things this morning?”

  Clayton didn’t pretend to misunderstand or brush it off. He checked to ensure the door was shut and the servant was outside it. “Even if he doesn’t know his brother was at Arshun’s that day, he cannot chance you knowing. The scandal would ruin him if it’s revealed his brother is a revolutionary.”

  “In other words, much more dangerous.”

  Clayton didn’t contradict her.

  “What do we do?” Olivia asked.

  “Continue to be cautious. I don’t think Golov will risk acting against us yet. We’re still his best option for breaking the code. In fact, there is the chance the revolutionaries may think so, too. That will give us at least some safety until the fete. “And I do not hate you.”

  “I—” She stopped. That hadn’t been what she expected him to say at all. “You don’t?”

  “I did kiss you yesterday.”

  Kate coughed and glanced at Olivia with a lifted eyebrow.

  Olivia spoke quickly, her voice a touch too loud. “Who made those delicious pancakes?”

  Kate frowned. “The blini? It was that hulking brute Clayton tossed into my kitchen. My cook has become quite taken with her new assistant.”

  “What hulking brute?” Olivia asked him.

  “Blin.”

  Olivia jumped to her feet. “Blin! Blin is here?” She glanced quickly at Kate. “And you said he was helping the cook, not locked up, right?”

  “I don’t think I have enough rope to tie him, but yes. Clayton asked if I would accept him as a servant for a few days.”

  The door thudded open as Olivia bolted from the room.

  Clayton moved into the corridor at a more sedate pace. By the time he reached the kitchen, Olivia had her arms as far as she could around the other man, a single glistening line curved down her cheeks. She praised him, laughing through her tears, about the pancakes.

  The other kitchen servants had gathered around, some smiling, some confused. The cook watched from over by the oven, her flour-covered hands clasped to her breasts.

  Blin’s face was so red, it was almost purple. He patted her on the back with a couple of quick pats. “With a name like Blin, my babushka said it was better to earn the name than give people a reason to mock it.”

  Olivia finally let go of him and stepped back.

  She was bloody glowing.

  “How did you come to be here?”

  Blin scuffed his toe. “I didn’t leave like you asked. I stayed to protect you. I was watching when—the baron?” His eyes found Clayton in the doorway, and Clayton nodded. “When the baron found me in the snow, and found a place for me in the princess’s house. Even one in the kitchen when I told him I was good at cooking.”

  Olivia slowly turned to face Clayton, her face suddenly serious. She studied him for one heartbeat. Then two.

  Clayton shrugged.

  She faced Blin again, her smile returning. “Why didn’t you go home?”

  Blin’s hand flopped at his sides. He lowered his voice so she had to strain to hear him. “I can’t.”

  Clayton interrupted before Olivia could unwittingly cause trouble for Blin. “We should let Blin return to his cooking.”

  Olivia seemed to notice the other curious servants for the first time. “Oh, I am so sorry to interrupt.” With one final smile, she walked toward Clayton.

  Once they were in the corridor she grabbed his arm, stopping them. “Why can’t he go home?”

  “He’s a serf who left his master without permission. If he’s discovered, the punishment is harsh. For both him and his family.”

  Olivia took a small step back, her hand tightening on him. “And he risked it to come after me.” Her voice quavered. “He said you found him in the snow?”

  He gave her an abbreviated account of the encounter outside. Apparently, not abbreviated enough, because her grip loosened to caress down his arm. “Thank you.”

  Clayton licked his suddenly dry lips. What he’d done was hardly deserving of praise. “I put him to work in the kitchens.” He tugged her forward until they were walking again. “I pulled a knife on him, too. Did he tell you that part?”

  “Then you decided to be kind.”

  “He watched over you. If I had access to it, I’d give him my entire damned fortune.”

  Her hand trembled on his arm, her fingers fluttering, then digging into him.

  Hell, but he’d said way too much with that line. And every word of it was the truth. His head spun as if he’d been on a ship in a squall. And for a moment, he feared his knees might actually be shaking.

  What had he just confessed?

  He hurried them both inside her room, not even caring that the servants might see.

  He knew he was panting as he shut the door, far more loudly than their simple walk would warrant.

  Her hand rested on his cheek then she leaned in until her lips brushed his. “Why did you decide to trust him?”

  “Because you did.” He trapped her waist and crushed her to him. He could no longer remember why he didn’t think this was a good idea. This was the best idea he’d ever had. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tangled with hers.

  His heartbeat echoed in his ear in perfect unison with her panting breaths.

  He kissed his way across the neckline of her pink gown; the thing was far too high for his tastes, but it did lead him to an intriguing tendon stretched tight along the side of her neck. He caressed it with a flick of his tongue, and she shuddered.

  So he repeated the caress.

  He was alive. Every nerve vibrated. Each breath felt like his first. And it wasn’t just sexual, although he was stiffer than a ten-pound cannon. He wanted to throw the window open and laugh at the moon. He wanted to spin Olivia in his arms until neither of them could see straight.

  A loud, braying laugh sounded below.

  The sound brought with it a touch of sanity. Clayton stepped back, shaking his head although that did little to clear it. “That is Smirken.”
He retreated until he couldn’t touch her again.

  She stepped toward him. “Can we claim to not be at home?”

  Clayton knew he should step back again but he held his ground, sucking in a deep breath when her hand rested on his chest. “You will hate me if I allow this to proceed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would go no further than this. Or rather that bed over there.”

  “What if that’s enough?”

  “It shouldn’t be enough for you.”

  She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth.

  His breathing stopped.

  Slowly, she kissed him again.

  His lids lowered until all he could see was the blur of colors around them. “You play with fire.”

  “Good.”

  With a growl, he caught her to him again. Clayton traced his thumb over her lips, the leather of his glove smooth and cool. “Your lips taste of raspberries and the finest French brandy.”

  She almost kissed his finger, but stopped. “You don’t like brandy.”

  His finger traced along her jaw and down her neck. “It’s an acquired taste.”

  He must be able to feel her fluttering pulse at her neck.

  “Have you acquired it?”

  He just cocked a brow.

  She stood on tiptoe so her lips were inches from his. “Perhaps you need another taste.”

  Clayton stilled, his eyes lowering to her mouth. She flicked her tongue over his lips, loving the way his eyes darkened further.

  There were footsteps on the stairs. Servants come to summon them, no doubt.

  Clayton stepped back, but his hand cupped her face for an instant before he released her. “If you claim to be unwell, you should be able to escape tea and get through much of the Vasin’s remaining items.” He drew a paper from his jacket then, and held it out. Her list from last night. Ever so slowly, he tucked it in the neckline of her gown, the paper sliding under her shift to nestle between her breasts. “It’s best to keep this somewhere on your person.”

  Olivia barely managed to nod. Each minute they’d wasted with Golov had seemed like a nail in the czar’s coffin.

  A footman knocked on her door and announced the general’s arrival, then did the same to Clayton’s. She hoped he didn’t notice Clayton’s response came from her room as well.

  “How well do you know Smirken?” she asked after the servant left.

  They hadn’t met very many who were pleased to see Clayton.

  He snorted softly. “He thinks quite well. The regiment I marched with when I saved Alexander’s life was Smirken’s. He claims to recall me from all sorts of battles he was too drunk to remember.” He disappeared into his room and returned with the remaining books and stacks of writing. “Rather like the time you tried to explain to me how the mill made paper.”

  She grabbed some of the books from him. “You’re a beast. You knew I didn’t know how it was made.”

  “I know, yet that didn’t stop you. However, I thought you had some idea.” He grinned at her. “But paper from milk?”

  She glared back, but she loved his teasing. “The liquid in the vat was white. And it makes as much sense as it coming from dissolved rags.”

  He ducked back into his room, and a few moments later, knocked on her main door.

  “I do know where paper comes from now,” she felt obligated to tell him as he escorted her. She attempted to push a bit further. “In fact, I can tell you the time it takes for each weave to break down into fibers.”

  Clayton ignored her for the rest of the walk to Kate’s parlor. Inside, Kate waited with a ruddy-faced man with thick gray muttonchops and huge mustache, and a dark, shapely woman who must be his bride.

  “Baron Komarov! So glad to see that someone made it out of Siberia.” Smirken spoke in Russian, laughing at his own joke, the loud, honking sound she’d heard from above.

  Clayton clasped hands briefly with the older man as Kate made introductions. The general’s wife ran a slow, appreciative glance over Clayton, her gaze all but caressing his lean, muscular thighs and what was between them. When Clayton lifted her hand to his lips, she let out a throaty sigh. “I don’t suppose you remember me.”

  “You two know each other already? It is always good to find an old friend!”

  The general thought it was good? Did he truly not see proof they’d been lovers shimmering in the air between them?

  And Olivia thought to impress him with her few kisses.

  “I remember you,” Clayton said. “We met at the Rigisky ball.”

  Of course, Clayton remembered. He’d no doubt be able to name everything about her that night down to the color of her slippers.

  He’d also remember anything that passed between them afterward.

  The general’s wife rose up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Although Olivia had seen women at the ball acknowledge introductions that way, this woman’s fat, wet lips practically devoured him. “Your hand wouldn’t bother me now,” she whispered.

  His hand?

  Clayton’s right hand, the one he kept constantly gloved, twitched, but he didn’t tuck it behind him as he was wont to do.

  Olivia might not know why he kept it concealed, but if the woman let anything distract her from the perfection that was Clayton, then she was a fool.

  Olivia stepped next to Clayton, forcing the other woman back. How dare she imply that Clayton was wanting in any way?

  Mrs. Smirken pouted. “I cannot believe you haven’t come for a visit. I have been . . . lonely.”

  Now she thought to proposition him?

  The general patted his wife on the back. “Sorry I cannot attend you more, my cabbage. Things have been busy of late. Then today with the scandal about the archbishop metropolitan. The people are in an uproar. It’s a good time to remind the czar not to place so much confidence in those black crows.”

  “What scandal?” Kate asked, stilling as she arranged the cups on the tea tray.

  The general’s wife smiled, her expression superior. “The metropolitan was arrested.”

  “On what charge?”

  At Clayton’s question, Mrs. Smirken’s expression shifted to one of outraged concern. “He’s been killing young girls. I feel quite frightened.” She reached for Clayton.

  Olivia tucked her hand around Clayton’s arm, blocking the other woman. “Thank goodness you have your husband.”

  “Shall we sit?” Kate came to the rescue for the second time that morning.

  Soon they were all seated. Olivia thought she’d won when she claimed the seat next to Clayton, forcing the other woman to sit across from them.

  Until the general’s wife leaned forward, her bosoms trembling on the edge of her bodice, and sent Olivia a triumphant sneer.

  So Olivia put her hand on Clayton’s knee. She refused to look at him to see where his loyalties lay in this skirmish, but at least he didn’t remove her hand.

  Kate poured the tea faster than anyone Olivia had ever seen. “So, General, you must tell me again about your victory at Vinkovo. I never grow tired of hearing of your glorious battle.”

  Smirken settled back into his chair, fingers smoothing his mustache. “It was indeed glorious. We captured the artillery from right under Murat’s nose. It’s said to be the reason Napoleon fled Russia. Baron, you, of course, were right in the thick of things. I can recall you charging into the battle on your horse.”

  Clayton nodded seriously. “You lent me your horse, I believe.”

  Smirken nodded. “Yes, that is right. A fine steed, he was.”

  Clayton shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t. Especially considering the poor condition of my horse.”

  The general’s wife inched forward further, her bosoms jiggling. “What happened to it?” There was a bloodthirsty hunger in her eyes.

  “It’s quite tragic.”

  Both the general and his wife leaned even further forward. Olivia could definitely see a nipple. The heada
che Olivia was supposed to feign felt far too real now. But she was not going to cede Clayton to this trollop.

  She opened her mouth to tell the other woman of her wardrobe inadequacy, but Clayton’s hand clamped over hers.

  “It simply goes to show that a horse should never develop feelings for a pig,” he said.

  Olivia didn’t say anything, but neither could she make her jaw close.

  “A pig?” Kate asked, her voice strangled.

  “Indeed, a fine warhorse. He insisted on following around one of the swine the regiment kept for food.”

  The general chuckled. “That was quite the sight.”

  He really did think he’d been there.

  “Unfortunately, one of the male pigs took offense and attacked.”

  “The pig attacked your horse?” Olivia asked.

  Clayton turned to her, the concern on his face so almost genuine she had to bite her knuckle in pretended horror to keep the laughter from escaping.

  Kate gulped her tea.

  “It was a cruel attack.”

  The general’s wife stiffened, offended. “Surely, your warhorse was able to trounce him.”

  Clayton let out a long sigh. “The pig rallied several of his friends to his aid. Clooter fought valiantly, but by the time I was able to reach him, it was too late.”

  Olivia knew then that this story was entirely false and entirely for her benefit. Clooter had been one of the workers at her father’s mill, a crotchety old man with the face of a horse. She sucked in slow breaths. Kate really should have asked Clayton before filling his time with visitors.

  “They killed him?” the general’s wife asked.

  “No, but he was terrified of grunts after that, and on the battlefield—”

  Olivia jumped to her feet. She couldn’t hold in her laughter anymore; she knew her face must be flushed from trying not to giggle like an idiot.

  “I’m sorry. This story is too much for me. Please, excuse me.”

  Mrs. Smirken shot her a smug look. “Do continue, Baron. I find your stories fascinating.”

  Clayton’s gaze moved between them. He lifted an eyebrow. “And added to his previous fear of chickens, that made him quite unusable on the battlefield—as you quite wisely counseled me, General.”