Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

by Anna Randol

  Ian continued past Arshun’s house. Smoke wafted from the chimney, and the snow on the walk leading to the house had been packed down by many feet. Arshun wasn’t alone in there.

  When Ian was a good distance past, he slowed the sleigh to a stop.

  “How many revolutionaries are there?” Olivia asked.

  Clayton leaped down. “That’s what I’m about to find out.”

  Without Clayton’s warmth at her back, Olivia shivered. She knew she shouldn’t stare after him but she couldn’t help it. “He isn’t going into the house, is he?”

  Ian shrugged. “He better be. Otherwise, next time he can stay with the horses.” Ian clicked his tongue and coaxed the horse into maneuvering the sleigh to face the way they’d come. “Don’t worry. There probably won’t be more than six or seven.”

  Six or— “You are jesting, right?”

  Ian frowned and tapped his chin. “Not this time.” He climbed down and threw one of his blankets over the back of the horse. “You’re wasting a perfectly good opportunity.” He wiped the frozen sweat from the beast.

  “What?” She tried to banish all thoughts of Clayton fighting half a dozen men.

  “I’m a fount of information about Clayton, and you’ve yet to ask me anything.”

  That distracted her. “You’d tell me?”

  “A woman who doesn’t shoot Clayton when given the chance is a rare woman indeed. Madeline did, you know.”

  “What?” she found herself repeating.

  “Shoot him. In the thigh. She claims it was an accident, that he moved into her line of fire, but I think we all know the truth.”

  Olivia’s head was spinning a bit, but not enough that she didn’t realize that was probably the effect he wanted.

  “Isn’t this information secret?”

  “Private—maybe. Secret—no. But I figure if I leave Clay to his own devices, he’ll be all dark and mysterious long after you’ve given up on him and it’s too late.” Ian hopped back into the sleigh and pulled the rest of his blankets over him. Then his hand reemerged holding half of a smashed pastry.

  She took the piece he offered. “Too late for what?”

  “For him to realize he still loves you.”

  “Wha—” She just barely stopped herself from repeating her confusion for a third time. “He doesn’t love me. Not anymore.” He might trust her. He might desire her. But he didn’t love her.

  “Then why didn’t he look into your history when he researched the mill?”

  The answer seemed rather obvious. “Because he didn’t care.”

  “Wrong! You know Clayton better than that. He is entirely methodical and meticulous. Yet he refused to look into your life over the past ten years. Odd, is it not? Almost like he was trying to prove something to himself?”

  “If you think he came after the mill just so he could interact with me—”

  Ian laughed. “No. No. He will destroy everything.” The grin faded on his face. “He will just hate himself afterward.”

  “I’m trying to stop him.”

  “No, you’re trying to save the mill.”

  Why hadn’t Clayton mentioned the man was mad? “They are the same thing.”

  “Wrong again. There’s information you could give Clayton that would stop him.”

  There was no way he could know—

  Ian tapped his temple. “All-knowing. It’s a curse, really.”

  She ripped the pastry. “Then I’d be the one who destroyed the mill. I’d be no different from my father.”

  “Are you now? Trying to reach your goals no matter the means?”

  Father’s daughter. “If I’ve had to lie, it was for the greater good—”

  “If you keep to your lies, you’ll destroy Clayton all over again. He trusts you. You know Clayton. He cannot do anything by half. So you have to choose: the mill or the man.”

  “If I tell him about my lies, I’ll lose him and the mill.”

  “Probably.” He plucked the bits of food he’d given her out of her hand and popped them into his mouth.

  Did he think she’d just give in and lose both? She was done losing the things she cared about. “Then I can’t.”

  Ian shrugged as he chewed. “Feel free to disregard the advice of the all-knowing.”

  “Who’s all-knowing?” Clayton asked from the side of the sleigh.

  He was safe. She jumped down and threw her arms around him.

  “Madeline and I chose to call him all-gloating instead.”

  Olivia tried to smile, but Ian’s observations had been too close to the mark. The mill or the man. Surely, the mill was the better option; after all, it would improve dozens of families.

  “There are nine of them plus Arshun,” Clayton reported.

  Ian landed in the snow next to them.

  Clayton grabbed her by the waist and deposited her on the driver’s bench. Ian handed her the reins.

  “What are you doing?” She tried to climb down but Clayton stopped her.

  “If we do not signal you in ten minutes, you drive away and do not come back.”

  They thought she would wait out here while they fought nine men?

  Ian clapped his hands together. “Your lover won’t say it so I will. You’re not trained. You’ll make things more dangerous for us if you come.”

  She knew he was right, but she still scowled at him. “If you’re not out in seven minutes, I’m following you inside.”

  Clayton took Ian’s remaining blanket and tucked it around her. “Is that a threat?”

  She glared at him, hoping it masked some of her fear. “Yes.”

  Ian rolled his shoulders, then twisted from side to side. “Seven minutes . . . I’ve always liked a challenge. We’ll do it in five.”

  The two men approached the house, then disappeared.

  Silence.

  No matter how she strained, she couldn’t hear any sounds of a struggle.

  The horse whickered in complaint and Olivia loosened her hold on the reins. She began counting in her head. It was better that than think about what was going on inside. She’d counted to sixty five times when the front door swung open. Ian stepped out and waved.

  She urged the horse toward the house. Once she’d secured the reins to a tree, she ran up the steps to the house.

  “Is Clayton all right?”

  Ian led her past where three unconscious young men were tied. “Of course. Sorry I took so long, I was trying to keep Clayton from killing the count with his bare hands. Well, not his bare hands, they’re gloved as always, of course.”

  Olivia didn’t wait to hear the rest of Ian’s commentary. The corridor into the back of the house was impossibly dark. Twice she tripped over crates and bound revolutionaries.

  She heard Clayton’s voice ahead followed by the thud of flesh hitting flesh. She picked up her skirts and ran toward the noise.

  In the middle of a back room amid a jumbled pile of spilled crates, Clayton stood over a bruised and bloody Arshun. The count’s nose looked to be broken and his eye had already swollen shut. The sleeve of his lemon-colored jacket had been nearly torn off and he’d somehow lost a shoe.

  Next to Clayton, Arshun was tiny and cowering. Not just physically.

  Clayton’s voice was little more than a growl. “And perhaps then you’ll think again before hurting—”

  “Can I take over before you kill him?” Ian asked from behind her.

  “No.”

  Arshun tried to stand, and Clayton leveled him again with a single punch.

  “You’re going to get blood on Olivia’s skirts.”

  Only then did Clayton’s gaze lock with hers. He stepped away.

  “Now if you want answers,” Ian said. “Wait outside.”

  She wouldn’t mind seeing Arshun get hit again. “Why?”

  Ian slowly advanced on Arshun, his steps slow and measured. He removed one glove, then the other. “My methods are my own.”

  For the first time, no humor lit Ian’s gaze. Sh
e didn’t argue when Clayton took her arm and escorted her out and shut the door behind him.

  “What are Ian’s methods?” she asked.

  Clayton shook his head. “He’d have to tell you.”

  “Would he?”

  “When I discovered by accident, he stabbed me twice and left me for dead.”

  Olivia stared at the closed door. “So that’s a no.”

  Clayton grimaced. “I don’t recommend asking.”

  She followed Clayton as he checked the house. He stooped and gagged each revolutionary they passed. By the time they returned, Ian poked his head out of the door. “You can come in now.”

  Arshun was curled on the floor, his knees tucked to his chest, shaking and pale, but there were no additional marks on him.

  Ian stood over him. A hint of something ugly and dark lingered in his eyes. His coat had been removed and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. “Who told you about Cipher and La Petit?”

  Arshun’s terrified eyes darted to Olivia, then quickly away. “I don’t know. The information came in the note. I assumed it was from one of Vasin’s former associates, but I don’t know.”

  “How did you find out about Vasin’s plan? You weren’t one of his confidants.”

  Arshun rocked side to side. “It was in the same note. It told me where to find the code and what it contained.”

  Ian crouched down next to Arshun. “What are you planning for the night of the gala?”

  “My revolutionaries will collect the weapons, then march in the streets at midnight, inspiring the populace to revolt.” He coughed. “That was my plan. Vasin’s signals were put in place this morning. The plan is in motion.”

  His small spurt of arrogance disappeared when Ian spoke again. “How did you break the code?”

  “I received instructions on that as well. Two days ago. But I don’t know from whom.”

  Arshun hadn’t broken the code. Someone else had broken it for him. Someone else had been pulling the strings from the beginning.

  Ian unrolled his shirtsleeves. “You know I warned you about lying.” Blackness still clouded his eyes.

  She thought, perhaps, he might enjoy carrying out his threats.

  Arshun shook his head frantically from side to side. “Lying about what?”

  Ian’s smile was far colder than any Clayton had ever given. “Who’s been sending you information? You’re not quite fool enough to take orders from nowhere.”

  “The man with his match to the fuse.”

  “Who?”

  A smug look settled on Arshun’s battered face. “I truly don’t know. And since I don’t know, neither can you.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The stillness of the sleigh woke Olivia. Clayton’s shoulder was a bit too hard and flat to be truly comfortable, but the warmth of his body as they’d traveled had been too lulling to resist. He’d tucked his arm around her, too, keeping her steady in the uncertain motion of the sleigh.

  “We’re here?” she asked.

  “St. Igor’s.” Clayton lifted his arm from around her and swore softly as he surveyed the church.

  Olivia lifted her head and blinked to focus her eyes. St. Igor’s was a small, sky blue church, nestled under five golden cupolas. The first rays of dawn glinted off the domes and illuminated a small red flag.

  She’d held out some small hope that Arshun had been lying.

  He hadn’t been.

  St. Igor’s was the third location they’d checked. All three signs had been given. She shivered.

  Ian strolled up to the woman selling small white candles by the front of the church. After only a few seconds, the elderly woman’s wrinkles had rearranged in cheery bursts around her eyes and mouth. His Russian was a little fast for Olivia to follow all of it, but he was asking about any regular patrons who frequented the church.

  But what were the odds the woman would know the revolutionary?

  But Olivia refused to give in to despair. “We need to warn the czar again.”

  “If Golov is part of the plan, it will do us no good.”

  “Then going to the czar will give us a way to know if he is part of the plan. If he confirms our claims to the czar and helps us, then we know he isn’t.”

  Clayton’s brows lifted slightly. “It’s a solid plan.”

  She thought at first he might be teasing her, but his gaze was sincere. Almost proud.

  A wide grin slowly swept his face. “And when we’re finally alone I’ll tell you my new plan. For the mill.”

  Her heart skipped in her chest. “What is it?”

  Ian returned and tossed her a squat white candle. “Wait inside where it’s warm. Or at least less cold. We’ll examine the area briefly. Again, easier if you aren’t tagging along.”

  She desperately wanted to know what Clayton had decided. Yet again, she realized she’d only slow the two men down.

  Besides, it was chilly without Clayton’s extra warmth, so she nodded.

  Clayton handed Olivia a knife. “Use this if you need to.” Then the two men were gone.

  As she stepped inside, she copied the elderly man who’d entered the church just before her, kneeling to cross herself. The walls of the church were hidden behind gilded, bejeweled icons, and the haze of hundreds of small, flickering candles.

  An old man knelt a few feet in front of her in the empty center of the church, his forehead resting on the stone ground. His simple dedication was a perfect contrast to the riches around him. A few other worshippers huddled by various icons, either silently bowed or whispering quiet supplications between kisses to the stylized saints.

  Her vicar would no doubt have palpitations at such blatant idolatry, but Olivia sensed a certain enviable sincerity in all of it.

  She made her way to a section of wall that was unoccupied by other worshippers. The small engraving under the icon said St. Eulalia. Olivia didn’t know what she was a saint of, but the woman was lying nearly dead under a blanket of snow.

  The stern-eyed saint watched her reproachfully.

  Olivia glared back. The candles before her sputtered in a gust of cold from the opening doors. Two priests entered, their long robes damp at the hem from the snow.

  “I’ve heard General Smirken is already speaking to the czar about removing three of the priests from his council,” one of them said.

  “The people will never stand for it.”

  “Yesterday. But after the revelations about Metropolitan Stanislav killing those girls, things aren’t so certain. People are angry that—” But their conversation was silenced after they passed through the richly decorated screen that concealed the altar, leaving Olivia straining to hear that last bit of gossip.

  Olivia dipped the wick of her candle into the dwindling flame of the only candle by St. Eulalia, the candle little more than a puddle of wax.

  She looked up when someone else entered the church. It wasn’t Clayton but a well-dressed woman heavily cloaked in furs. A few wisps of the woman’s red hair curled around her face.

  Red hair?

  “Kate?”

  Kate whirled, relief crossing her expression. “You’re here. But where’s Clayton?”

  Olivia frowned. “How did you know we were here?” They hadn’t seen her since they’d left her home yesterday.

  “Because I knew the flag was here. It was meant for me.”

  Dread twisted down Olivia’s back. She pulled out the dagger. “You’re one of the agents.” The words seemed to emerge from her mouth too slowly.

  The other woman nodded, holding out her hands to show they were empty. “I’m not armed. I came here to confess.”

  Olivia tightened her grip on the knife.

  “I knew if you broke the code, you’d go to the places where the signals were given. I hoped I could find you.” The other woman’s face was drawn and tired. “If I was still working for them, why would I give myself away?”

  “You could be planning to kill us.”

  “Again, why would I have told
you who I was first?”

  Olivia suspected Clayton would have been able to think of a reason, but she couldn’t. She slowly lowered the dagger.

  Kate exhaled. “I need your help. Well, as loath as I am to admit it, I need Clayton’s help.”

  “With what?” Olivia tensed when Kate’s hands disappeared into her reticule, but she only emerged with a candle of her own.

  Kate lit her candle. The flame wavered in her shaking hand.

  “You have to understand.” Kate set her candle on the ground, letting her hands hover over it for a moment as if to warm them. “I saw so many horrors on my travels that never made it into my book. Children with their stomachs bloated from starvation while fields heavy with the czar’s grain mocked a few dozen yards away. Serfs tortured by their masters until they were barely recognizable as human.” Kate flinched at some remembered horror. “Whole towns without men because they dared rebel against the emperor. Other towns stripped bare by the war. Filth, disease.”

  Olivia had seen hints of that in Kate’s writing. “So you chose Vasin?”

  Kate glanced around the small church. “I forget you only know of Vasin through Clayton and that fool Arshun. Vasin was”—Kate shook her head slowly, her face serious—“so many things. Charismatic. Brilliant. Yes, he was ruthless, but that was because he had such a pure vision of what Russia could become. A soft man could never free Russia.” Kate’s eyes gleamed when she spoke, a zeal that Olivia never suspected she harbored.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I didn’t agree to help Arshun.”

  “What were you supposed to do when you saw the flag?” Olivia asked.

  “Vasin had me gathering information on the empress these past few years. Nothing as damaging as what they had on the metropolitan—”

  “Wait, what metropolitan?”

  “The archbishop who was just arrested for killing those girls. Vasin placed one of his revolutionaries in that household as well. A clerk, I believe.”

  “And you were assigned to the empress?”

  Some of Olivia’s shock must have come through in her voice because Kate’s jaw worked for several seconds before she spoke. “There are things going on in this empire that are wrong. The people need a voice in their own government. My opinion of that hasn’t changed.”